


Broken For Me

by were_lemur



Category: GoldenEye (1995), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Brainwashing, Future Fic, M/M, Medical Trauma, Pain, Post-Canon, Psychological Torture, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture, Unhealthy Relationships, Withholding Pain Medication, author creeped themself out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-20
Updated: 2010-04-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 01:40:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 47
Words: 42,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/were_lemur/pseuds/were_lemur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James would do anything to make Alec love him again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Broken For Me

Alec had been screaming for five minutes. James knew this, because he had been watching the slow sweep of the second hand as the minutes ticked by. He wanted the timing to be perfect -- just long enough for Alec to get the full impact of the pain, but not long enough to make him retreat inside himself.

A minute or two more, and Alec would be ready.

It couldn't be soon enough. James hated to watch Alec suffer. Hated to watch, as he fought to free himself from the medical apparatus that held him to the bed, as he struggled to breathe past the bandages that constricted his chest, as he tried to pull away from the casts that both imprisoned and protected him from the waist down, as he tried to twist his head from side to side, despite the cervical collar that held his neck stable, as he tried to arch his back away from the brace that did the same for his spine.

Now was the time. James prepped the syringe, then gently untangled the fingers of Alec's left hand from the sheets. He turned Alec's left arm over -- the right was strapped to his chest to protect yet more broken bones -- and injected the contents into his bloodstream. Then he bent over Alec. Cupped a hand against his cheek, and spoke, loudly enough to be heard over the screams. "Alec. Look at me."

At first, there was no response. James raised his voice a notch. "Alec, open your eyes."

Finally, he got a glimpse of pain-dulled green eyes. "Come on, Alec, look at me." But Alec's eyes rolled back into his head and slid shut.

"Alec…" voice quieter now, to coax his friend out of the depths. Finally, Alec managed to get his eyes open. James could read the plea there, the words that were drowned in the torrent of screams. _Help me. Make it stop. Kill me,_ he'd begged, when he'd first woken up here.

"You'll be all right," James whispered. "Just a minute longer. Stay with me, Alec."

James could tell the moment that the morphine started to take effect. Alec's eyes focused, locked on James. As the drug took hold, Alec's screams faded to exhausted gasps, and he went limp in the grip of the apparatus that held him. The sharp lines drawn by pain softened.

James stroked Alec's cheek, feeling the scars beneath his fingers. Alec was tough. He'd lived through worse than this. It would take more than a few minutes of pain to kill him.

Finally, Alec's breathing was back to normal. "Feeling better?" James asked.

Alec tried to nod, but the cervical collar wouldn't allow even that much movement. "Yes," he whispered, in a voice wrecked from screaming.

"Is there anything else I can get you?"

"Ice," Alec murmured. "Thirsty."

"I'll be right back," James said, and when Alec looked worried, he said, "The freezer is in the next room over. I'll only be gone a minute." He smoothed Alec's hair back, and kissed his forehead. "Just a minute."

As he walked to the freezer, James smiled. Alec was making good progress -- the doctors had assured him that he would make a complete recovery. But he still had a long, painful road ahead of him. By the time it was over, Alec would associate him with the relief that came when the pain stopped. He would be Alec's drug, and Alec would learn to love him again. Then it would be like it had been before, before Goldeneye, before Arkangel, before everything had gone so wrong.

But this time, Alec wouldn't betray him. From now on, Alec would be his.


	2. Last Gasp

"James."

His own voice sounded hollow in his ears; he could barely hear it. But James did. Instantly, he was at his side, brushing the hair back from his forehead, leaning in close to hear his words, to provide comfort and relief.

Alec was insanely grateful for his presence. And this did not bode well for his psyche.

"Can I get you something, Alec? Ice?"

"Yes," he heard himself saying.

Then James was gone. Alec could hear his footsteps retreating, the door opening and closing. He found himself counting seconds, one-one-thousand two-one-thousand three-one-thousand.

At forty-eight-one-thousand -- an eternity later-- he heard the door open and then close again. He twisted his head against the cervical collar, desperate for the sight of James, but all he could do was stare straight ahead and wait and count footsteps. Nine footsteps, back across the room, nine measured treads, an eternity, an agony of anticipation.

He hated himself, hated his weakness, hated how puppy-eager he was for the moment when Bond's face would appear in his peripheral vision.

And then he was back. Alec felt himself relax, warm-cool-pleasure flooding over him. James was back. He'd be taken care of. Hand in the cup of ice, then moving to his face. Cool-cool-relief against his lips, sliding into his mouth. He held the chip of ice there, let it melt and finally slide, cool, down his throat. A moan of pleasure escaped him, to thrum against James's fingers.

"That's it," James murmured. "That's better."

"No."

"What's wrong?" James's face above him -- filling the whole world -- grew worried.

Alec scraped the last of his rage -- the last he feared he would ever have -- and flung it at James. "Everything!" he cried, in a voice that felt like it would crack. He wanted more ice, wanted _James_ to feed him more ice, and tell him that it was all better. But he had just enough of himself left for one last stand, and one last chance to make it. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing."

"I'm trying to take care of you. Trying to _help_ \-- "

"Forced dependence. Control of pain and relief. Isolation." He had to fight to get the words out. "Classic brainwashing techniques, James. We've both studied them."

He braced himself for the reprisal, knowing that he deserved it. But to his surprise, James laid one cool hand on his hot forehead. "Alec, shhhh… you've been through a rough time. I'm not surprised you're looking for someone to blame."

Damn him. If only he'd get angry. If only he'd rage, hit, threaten to withhold drugs. But he was too smart for that. Too smart to give Alec anything to cling to. Now Alec had to sustain his rage all by himself.

"You _bastard_." It came out more tired than angry. "You _dropped_ me. Deliberately. Withheld treatment, withheld _morphine_. Made me scream. Made me wish I could speak, so I could beg you, _beg you_, to make the pain stop."

"Alec, I -- "

"Shut up, shut up, _shut up!_" He closed his eyes, so he couldn't see the wounded look James had plastered on his face. "You did this to me, you did it all, I know you did. I know what you're doing.

"But do you know the worst part, James? The worst part is, _it doesn't matter_. I know exactly what you're doing, the techniques, the strategies, but none of that matters. It's working." He let out a breath that might have been a laugh, or maybe a sob. "Knowing doesn't help. Makes it worse, in fact. Because I can feel myself slipping away, with every shot of morphine, every chip of ice, every kind gesture or moment of tenderness. You're killing me, James, and sometimes, I welcome it."

"Alec -- " Fingers combing through his hair, and he craved the touch, would lean into it, if he were not restrained.

"Please. Don't."

"I'm not trying to isolate you, Alec; I'm trying to keep you safe. If MI-6 were to find you, they'd put a bullet in your head, no questions asked."

"The bullet would be kinder, James, I'm drowning in you, dissolving. Soon there'll be nothing left of me." _And would that be so bad?_ He shoved that thought down, refused to acknowledge it. "Please, James." He knew he was begging, but was willing to try anything. "Please. Stop this. Before it's too late."

"Too late for what?"

"For _me_, James. Another day or two, and I'll be nothing but a hollow shell, waiting for you to pour yourself into me." And if that was what James wanted? An automaton, an Alec-shaped toy?

He raised his left hand, the only part of him that wasn't bandaged into immobility, though it felt like moving it through cement, and touched James's cheek. Traced his hand down to the corner of James's mouth. "We were good together, once."

"And we will be again." James captured Alec's hand, and kissed his fingertips, then the palm.

"No." He tried to pull his hand away, but he didn't have the strength. "Not like this. It won't be 'we'. It will only be you."

"Alec. I'm sorry." James began to rub Alec's palm with his thumb, slow, gentle circles. "There's so much I should have said years ago. So much I should have _admitted_."

"Your love for me?" Alec twisted his lips into a bitter parody of a smile. "I killed that when I left you. When I betrayed you. When I tried to kill you. Three times, I tried. Not because I loved you, but because I hated you! I couldn't bear the world if it had you in it, couldn't bear knowing you were out there, somewhere, so I baited my trap, baited it just for you and waited. And you came -- "

"But you didn't kill me." James's voice was calm. "If you'd wanted me dead, you would have done it while I was unconscious. A bullet to the brain, and a second to make certain. You could have gone on to Cuba that night -- there was nothing stopping you. On the train, you didn't have to give me three minutes. You could have set off the bomb as soon as you left."

"I wanted to watch the light go out of your eyes. _I_ wanted to be the last thing you saw, not that damn woman!

"So why didn't you shoot me when you had the chance? At the top of the ladder -- you could have done it. So why wait?"

"Fuck you!" He drew a breath, and the dryness in his throat sent him into a coughing fit. The coughing started pains that had died down, ripping across his chest, erupting through his shoulder, and running down his limbs, bringing tears to his eyes. If he couldn't stop coughing, it was going to get _bad_. But he couldn't make himself stop. He squeezed his eyes shut, gritted his teeth, tried to get his breathing under control. But his throat was too dry.

And then he felt the cool smoothness of ice at his lips. He opened his mouth, let it slide in, sucked at it eagerly. Too soon, it was gone. He ran his tongue over his lips to capture the last of the moisture.

Then James was there, with more ice. This time, he let it melt slowly on his tongue. It felt so good. Better than alcohol. Better than sex.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"More?"

"Please."

James placed the ice gently on Alec's tongue. His fingers lingered for a moment, to trace his lips.

For a moment, Alec wished James would replace fingers with lips. Would feed him the ice mouth to mouth, melt it with the heat of his kiss. A soft moan escaped him, desire or despair, he could not have said which.

Fingers left his lips, moved to stroke his hair. "Do you want morphine?"

"Please," he murmured, afraid James would change his mind. He wanted desperately not to think, almost as much as he wanted to not hurt. Or maybe they were one and the same, symptoms of the same cause, the penalty for hurting James?

He felt the needle's kiss. James's kiss, his blessing, bestowed unexpectedly; he would not have to scream to earn it. Not today. "Thank you," he whispered, as the morphine began to work its magic, spreading through him like liquid warmth. "Thank you."

"Shh. Sleep now. Heal." James's voice wrapped around him, soothing him, comforting him, protecting him from the pain of his shattered, betraying body.

James would keep him safe. James loved him, and that was all that mattered.


	3. The Worst Way

James stared down at Alec as he slept, safe in the embrace of the morphine. Free of the pain, his face was relaxed; he was even smiling faintly. James brushed a stray strand of hair back from his forehead, and studied him.

He was like a porcelain doll, James thought; carelessly dropped and smashed, but lovingly reassembled. All he would need now -- James's lips twitched upward -- was a few months for the glue to dry.

"Then you'll be good as new," he murmured, and reached out to trace the line of one cheekbone with a gentle fingertip.

Even broken, he was still beautiful; maybe more so. Helplessness looked good on him; vulnerability with just an edge of fear. _And let's not forget moments of Stockholm-syndrome-induced lust._

He remembered the way Alec's green eyes had gone dark with need, as he'd traced his lips with his thumb. He'd read the desire there, warring with fear and anger. An image came to him, then; of shaking Alec awake, climbing on top of him, and fucking his mouth. The angle was wrong, he'd half-choke, gag on the cock. James could imagine it all too well; Alec's eyes gone big and pleading, tears trickling down his cheeks.

He turned away, shaking, nauseated. Hurried from Alec's side, from his room, before he could make that horrific-arousing vision come to pass. In the passageway, he pressed his forehead against the cool metal of an electrical panel. "I _mourned_ you, you bastard!" he shouted. He slammed his fist into the concrete wall, sending a satisfying shock of pain up his arm. But it wasn't enough. He punched the wall, again and again, until his knuckles were swollen and bloodied. He slumped against the wall, and shaking with barely suppressed sobs.

At last, he straightened. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself. Finally, he felt calm enough to return to Alec, who still slept, unaware of the battle James had fought with himself.

James stared down at him, eyes blurred by tears. "Nine years. I never forgot. Never _forgave_ myself, for not saving you." His hand drifted down, to stroke Alec's cheek. He turned his hand over, letting Alec's stubble rasp against the back of his hand and catch on the split knuckles, leaving a smear of blood. "What we had -- it can't have _all_ been a lie. You must have felt _some_thing for me."

But Alec was not answering.

"I never wanted this. No, that's not true. I must have wanted it." He could remember letting go, opening his hands, Alec's foot slipping, slow-motion, from his grasp. But he couldn't remember what he'd thought, what he'd _felt_. Angry, he supposed. He must have been angry. Hurt. Betrayed.

Again, the thought skittered through his mind, of taking Alec by force, but this time the image had no real power. It was just a reflection, he told himself, of the anger he'd felt. As well as being a suicidally stupid thing to do. Morphine or no morphine, Alec would fight back. He'd bite, and blood loss would do the rest. He'd do it even knowing that James was the only one who knew where he was, and that killing him would mean an agonizing death, trapped in his own body, when the morphine ran out.

But more than that, he didn't want to take Alec by force. He wanted to make Alec want him, need him -- not hate him. He wanted all of Alec; not just his body. Couldn't have his body now, anyway; not without hurting him. But that didn't matter. He could wait. "Just a few months," he reminded himself. A few months, until Alec was recovered. Until Alec was _his_.

But at moments like this -- with Alec just _lying_ there, that faint smile on his face making him look like a sleeping angel -- James wondered how he could possibly hold out one night, _one second_ longer.

He bent over, and kissed Alec gently on the lips. Alec's mouth opened, just enough for James to slip his tongue inside. Alec groaned softly, his tongue slid against James's, and his eyelids started to flutter.

James jerked back, gasping. He hadn't meant that to go that far. Shouldn't have done it at all.

Now that the sensation had gone away, Alec stopped fighting the morphine and sank back into sleep. If he remembered it at all, he'd think he'd dreamed it. Maybe he was still dreaming it; the smile wasn't so faint, now.

James bolted from the room, for the second time in under an hour. If he stayed any longer, he'd give into the temptation, kiss Alec awake, and -- he wasn't sure what he'd do, the casts and bandages didn't leave much room for maneuver, but he knew he'd do anything to see Alec's eyes go dark with need.

As soon as he reached his quarters, he kicked off his shoes, emptied his pockets, dropped the gun on the sink, and stepped into the shower with the rest of his clothes on. Turned the cold water on, full-blast, and stood there until his teeth started to chatter. Then he counted, slowly, to three hundred.

He shut the water off and slogged across the room, still in his wet clothes. Pulled the bottle of vodka out of the freezer, poured himself a generous slug, and downed it in a single shot.

After his fifth shot, he put the bottle back in the freezer. He stripped down, toweled off, and dressed in dry clothes. He picked up the book he'd been reading -- one of Donald Westlake's caper novels -- but he couldn't concentrate. He wasn't in the mood for comic. Wasn't in the mood for anything, if the truth be told.

He set the book aside. Without really intending to, he padded out of the room, down the hall, and back to Alec's sickroom.

Alec was still asleep, of course. The morphine would linger in his system for a few hours more.

There was still blood on Alec's face, James realized. He ran warm water into a washcloth, wrung it out, and wiped the blood away. Then, gently, he began running the washcloth over Alec's face, mopping away old sweat. He moved lower, down his chin and to what little of his neck he could get to, between the edges of the cervical collar. Then down, across his chest, to where the bandages for his ribs began. Back up, to the shoulder, arm, hand. Then moving again, to the thin strip of flesh between the bottom of the bandages and the top of the cast that started just above his waist.

Through it all, Alec hadn't moved. But when James reached into the narrow gap in the cast to wash between his legs, Alec let out a soft gasp. James finished quickly, before he ran out of willpower.

He was dangerously close.

He should leave right now, he knew. He should go back to his room, and force himself to read, or sleep, or drink himself into a stupor if need be. Anything but stay here with Alec, with the temptation.

Instead, he found himself tracing the shape of Alec's lips with one fingertip. Soft, slightly chapped. Idly, James pulled the small tube of lip balm from the side table, took a bit off the top, and started to smooth it on with his thumb. Alec's breath was warm on his palm.

He was definitely feeling the effects of the alcohol. It wasn't enough to make him unsteady on his feet, but the room felt hot and stuffy. He unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt.

He wanted Alec. Wanted him in the worst way. Or maybe the best -- wanted to give him pleasure. Wanted to make love to him, bring him to the edge and tip him over, wanted to hold him as the orgasm trembled through him, look into his eyes as he came.

He found his hands tracing down the same path the washcloth had taken earlier. He ran his fingers down Alec's chest. He tugged the bandages down just a bit, to reveal Alec's left nipple.

He licked his finger, and began to circle Alec's nipple. Alec sucked in a deep breath, and arched against the back brace. His eyes remained closed, though.

Emboldened, James rolled the nipple between his fingers. Alec groaned. The sound made James's knees grow weak; he felt himself growing hard. With his free hand, he undid his belt buckle and fly. He slid his hand down, and got a grip on his hardening cock.

He should go. He knew that. Should go back to his room, and take care of himself there. But Alec looked so damn tempting, lying there, his lips parted.

They'd often played rough, enjoyed a little pain with their pleasure. But any pain that was enough to get through the morphine would be enough to _hurt_. Not at all the effect he wanted.

He brought a chair over, and sat on the very edge. He leaned forward, and lowered his mouth onto Alec's nipple. Sucked gently for a minute, then flicked it with his tongue. Alec gave a little gasp. James began to suck in earnest. Alec's breathing sped up, and he began to twist and thrash.

If he kept this up, James realized, Alec might hurt himself. Reluctantly, he backed off. Alec let out a whimper, and his hand grasped at nothing. For a long minute, it looked as if he might manage to wake himself up, but finally, his breathing slowed and his body relaxed.

"That's it," James murmured. "Back to your dreams." He stroked Alec's hair. "Am I there with you?"

He leaned over Alec, studying him, looking for any tell-tale signs of what he might be dreaming. His smile was just as enigmatic as ever. James reached out to touch him, but pulled his hand back. One touch would lead to another, and another.

Instead, he skimmed his hand along his chest, tried to imagine it was Alec's hand on him. Moved his hand lower, across his belly, down to his cock. He closed his eyes, and let his mind drift. Places he'd fucked Alec, places Alec had fucked him, places they'd talked about _wanting_ to fuck -- places they'd go, once Alec was better. Find some private island in the tropics where they could make love on the beach. Warmed by the sun. Cooled by the sea. Maybe they could find a waterfall. With a cave behind it, where no one could see or hear them. He'd drop to his knees, take Alec's cock into his mouth, let the head slide down his throat.

He could imagine it so easily. He remembered the feel -- steel sheathed in silk; the taste -- nothing he could ever put into words, Alec tasted like Alec, there was no better description.

Alec's hands tangling in his hair. Alec's moans, audible even over the roar of the waterfall. How his hips would buck and jerk, the taste of him when he came.

How he would look as James held him down, forced him.

With that image in his mind, James came. His knees buckled; he ended up on the cold cement floor. "I didn't mean it," he gasped. "I didn't mean it."

Of course he didn't. He loved Alec. He'd never do anything to hurt him.

It was just -- just like the games they'd played, on occasion. The ones that had ended with one or the other of them tied to the bed, or any other stationary object that happened to be handy. Harmless fantasy, as long as he didn't act on it.

He knelt there for several long minutes, until his breathing slowed back to normal and he trusted his knees to hold him. He used Alec's bed to lever himself up.

"Sorry you missed it." He pressed his lips to Alec's forehead. "But don't worry. There's more where that came from. So hurry up and get better."

As an afterthought, he pressed one sticky finger to Alec's lips. "Just a taste of what's waiting for you."

Then he turned and headed back to his room, for the second shower and third outfit of the day.


	4. Prayer

_And it's not a cry that you hear at night  
It's not somebody who's seen the light  
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah_  
\--Jeff Buckley, _Hallelujah_

 

Any other man would have screamed by now.

Alec knew -- after this long, he would have figured it out -- that the sooner he screamed, the sooner he'd get morphine. But there he was, jaw clenched, hand locked on the edge of the bed, eyes open but unseeing. He'd keep from screaming as long as his stupid, stubborn pride held out, even if it meant adding long minutes to his ordeal.

James, for one, was tired of it.

_Time to switch tactics._

He filled the syringe with morphine, and went to Alec's side. Alec whimpered, deep in his throat; the precursor to a scream. But James wasn't planning to wait. He bent over Alec. "Say my name," he whispered.

Alec's eyes darted to him, but then returned to whatever he was staring at in the middle distance. James leaned in close, to put himself in the way of that gaze, and looked into Alec's eyes. "Say my name," he repeated.

"James," Alec gasped, biting the name off before any screams could follow it out. James slid the needle into his vein, and pressed the plunger to release the morphine into Alec's bloodstream. "Say my name," he repeated.

"James," Alec whispered. "James."

He continued to whisper the name -- softly, like a prayer -- until the morphine carried him off to sleep.


	5. Abandon

Waking up is almost too much trouble. His head feels heavy, like someone had filled it with cement, and his mouth feels like it's stuffed with cotton. He's half-tempted not to bother, the morphine makes it easy to sleep, but it feels like that's all he does. Hour after hour of dreamless sleep, broken only by the fleeting sensation of hands -- lips? -- on his skin. No pain, but not much else either.

Besides, he's thirsty.

"James?" His eyelids aren't co-operating with this venture; they, too, are coated with cement. And his voice sounds thick when he asks, "Ice?"

There's no answer. No comforting words, no kiss on the forehead.

No ice.

"James?"

Still no answer.

Opening his eyes is nothing short of a Herculean task. Finally, though, he's rewarded with the narrow view that's been his whole world since he woke up here. White ceiling. Acoustic tiles. Two strips of fluorescent lights, running perpendicular to his bed. No clock; this is important, somehow, but he doesn't remember why.

No James.

He might still be here; the cervical collar blocks his view of the lower half of the room. If he's sitting down -- reading, maybe, or dozing in his chair -- but he should still answer. "James, please, I'm thirsty."

His only answer is silence. He strains his ears, but all he can hear is the soft buzz of the fluorescent lights.

Raw panic starts to trickle through his veins. If James is gone, if James has _left_ him --

He takes a deep breath -- ignoring the pain in his chest -- and lets it out slowly. There are any number of reasons James might have stepped out for a minute. He could be in the bathroom, getting something to eat, getting a drink of water.

"He'll be back soon." Alec says it aloud; he needs the comfort of a human voice, even if it's just his own. "Five minutes. He'll be back in five minutes." But there's no clock. Why isn't there a clock? He starts counting, slowly. "One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand…"

He's still counting at seven hundred seconds -- eleven, almost twelve minutes. And he knows; James is gone. James isn't coming back. Raw terror floods him. A low moan rises in his throat. James has left him, and he's going to die here, alone.

"I'm sorry. Please. Whatever it is, whatever I did, I didn't mean it."

But the silence continues to stretch, empty, and so deep it makes his ears hurt. He fancies he can hear his own heartbeat, the rush of blood in his veins. He calls for James again, but his voice seems lost in that vast, soundless desert.

"Please come back. Please?"

_Why the hell would he want to come back?_

"He loves me. James loves me." He has to believe that; it's all he has to cling to.

_How could he? You're nothing but a burden. He has to feed you, look after you, wipe your _arse_ \-- _

He moans, humiliated by the memory.

_He's been keeping you around from pity. Because he feels sorry for you, sorry for dropping you, when you know that's what you damn well deserved. And what do you do? Fight him. You should be crawling to kiss his feet. Thanking him every day, every _minute_, for not leaving you to die when that antenna came crashing down._

"I do. I do. James!"

_Is it any wonder that he's left you here?_

"He hasn't -- "

_Oh yes, he has. He's gone, left you, and now you're going to die. Alone._ The voice is gloating, now. _How will it happen, do you think? Dehydration maybe -- feeling thirsty, are you? Heart attack, from the pain? Or will you survive long enough to die from exhaustion?"_

"Shut up, shut up!" He's screaming at a voice in his head, his own voice, he knows that but he can't stop. He feels something snap inside him. "James! James, please! James!"

He doesn't know how long he calls; long enough for his throat to go raw. But still, he keeps yelling, hoping against hope that James will hear somehow, James will know how sorry he is, and come back to him.

Suddenly, the door swings open. He hears the sound of running footsteps. James's voice, sharp with fear. "Alec!"

"James! Please -- "

James bends over him, stroking his hair. "Alec, love, what's wrong? Do you need morphine? I'll get you some morphine."

"No!" He clutches at James, terrified that he'll leave. "Don't go. Please. Please!"

"Shh, shh, I'm not going anywhere."

"But you did. You did. You _left_ me! You were gone for hours -- where _were_ you?"

"Oh, God, Alec, I'm so sorry." He strokes his hair with a gentle hand. "I wanted some air, I stepped out for just a few minutes. Twenty minutes. I thought you'd sleep for another hour or two, that twenty minutes couldn't hurt."

"Twenty minutes?"

"Yes."

"I thought you were gone forever. Thought you were never coming back. That you'd _left_ me."

"Alec, I'm not going to leave you. Not now. Not ever. I love you, Alec."

"Really?" It seems too good to be true, that James could love someone so broken, so pathetic.

But James is there, offering reassurance; soothing words to fill the cold, empty places inside him. "Yes. I love you. Really." He kisses Alec's forehead and then, lightly, his lips; it's over almost before it begins. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Say it again."

"I'm sorry -- "

"No. Tell me you love me."

"I love you, Alec." He draws Alec's hand to his chest, holds it against his heart. "I never stopped loving you. Not in nine years of separation, not even when you were trying to kill me."

This strikes Alec as the most precious gift anyone has ever been given. He presses his hand against James, insinuates the tip of one finger into the space between buttons, so he can feel warm flesh. "Thank you," he whispers. "Thank you."


	6. Interlude

"It's all right. I'm here, now." James bent over Alec. "You were dreaming."

No answer, but his eyes were open, now, his breath slowing from a mad rush to a normal pace. Finally, Alec managed a shaky smile. "I'm -- I'm awake. I think."

"You are."

"Good." He fumbled for James's hand, pulled it close to his cheek. James took the hint, stroking with his thumb, rubbing his fingers through three weeks' worth of stubble.

This was the fourth time Alec had woken to nightmares. The doctor had warned him about possible sleep disturbances when he began to taper Alec down to a lower dose of morphine, but he hadn't expected them to start so soon.

Maybe he shouldn't have been surprised that Alec's demons were so close to the surface. But he wasn't ready to deal with it. Not yet. Maybe not ever. He opened his mouth to offer Alec another dose of morphine, but then shut it again.

Sooner or later, he'd have to have this conversation. He supposed it might as well be now. "What were you dreaming?"

Alec dropped his eyes, as if ashamed. "I was -- I was falling."

"No surprise, I suppose."

"No." His eyes closed and for a moment James thought he was going to go back to sleep, but then they jerked open again. "I always heard that if you hit the ground in a dream, you die. But I don't suppose that applies to me, anymore."

"I wouldn't think so."

"So there's nothing to be afraid of." He clenched his hand into a fist, and James realized that he was trembling. "It's in the past."

"In the dream, you don't know that."

"No." For a moment, his face twisted into a mask of fear, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. "All I know is, you've let me go. Abandoned me to the cold arms of fate. Or, to be strictly accurate, gravity." He managed a parody of a smile, but it only lasted a moment.

"I know."

"How can you?" Alec cried.

James combed his fingers through Alec's hair. "You're not the only one who's been having nightmares."

"You never have nightmares." Alec swallowed hard, but when James reached for the cup of ice, he clutched at his arm. "What do you have to have nightmares about?"

"Losing you."

Alec blinked up at him. "But you -- you -- "

"Made the biggest mistake of my life." That was close enough to the truth. Certainly the biggest mistake of the past twenty-six years. "We both know how close I came to -- that you almost -- " He felt genuine tears rising in his eyes. "I almost killed you, Alec -- and in my nightmares, there's no _almost_ left."

He looked at Alec, trying to judge his reaction, but his face was unreadable. Closed off.

Two could play at that. He stood, turned his back, though he left one hand resting on the side rail of Alec's bed. "I never quite got over losing you the last time, Alec. I used to dream that you came back to me. And then you did. And -- " He squeezed his eyes shut.

He felt a hand close over his wrist. He covered it with his other hand. "If it was the same every night, maybe I could get used to it, but it's not. Sometimes I get down there, but it's too late. And I have to watch as you bleed out in my arms -- or burn to death under a pile of rubble. Which is bad enough. But the worst -- the absolute worst -- are the ones where I just fly away, and leave you to your fate. Leave you to _die_. And I have to live with that, for the rest of my life. Knowing that I've killed you. Killed the man I love. Again."

"But you didn't." Alec tugged at his wrist. "You came back for me. You got to me in time."

"In time to sign you up for months of agony." He let a trace of bitterness seep into his voice. "I'm sure you're grateful."

"You came _back_," Alec said. "After everything I did -- after everything I tried to do -- you still love me." His tugs became an insistent pull, and James let himself be turned back around. "That's all that matters."

"Is it?" James asked, thinking, _It can't possibly be this easy._

"Yes," Alec whispered. "I can live with the nightmares, as long as you're here when I wake up."

"I'll always be here, Alec." He tightened his grip on Alec's wrist until he saw him wince, then loosened his hand and rubbed to soothe the pain away. "I'm never going to let you go again."


	7. Troubled in Paradise

"James?"

It's always the first thing Alec says when he wakes up; the first thing he does is look for him. "I'm here, Alec," James whispered, leaning over to kiss his forehead. "Can I get you something?"

"Ice, please."

"All right." He kissed his forehead again. "I'm going to be right back. I'm just going to the freezer in the next room." He says this every time, too; it's one of their rituals. "I'll be back before you can count to a hundred."

When Alec smiled, it was like the sun breaking through the clouds. "Even if I count fast?"

"Don't be silly." He bent over, kissed Alec lightly on the lips. Backed away before either one of them could give in to the temptation to make it anything deeper. Not that Alec needed much more; his breath had quickened just at that slight contact. "I'll be right back."

He scooped a cup of ice and returned to find Alec not counting, just lying there, his fingers pressed to his lips. He looked dazed. Not morphine-fuzzy -- at the reduced dose, he was starting to be more alert -- but slightly overwhelmed.

James could understand that. "Hey," he said, and shook the cup. "Ice." He fished out a chip and slipped it into Alec's waiting mouth. He let his hand linger, reaching down to cup his cheek. Alec smiled again, the uncomplicatedly happy smile of a man in love.

That was what made it all worthwhile; all the pain he'd put Alec through, all the mindgames he'd had to play, crouching outside his door for an hour and a half, waiting for his nerve to break. Not to mention the self-denial; he was masturbating as much now as he had at fourteen. But he'd had to break Alec so he could put him back together again.

Now everything was going to be all right. Alec would heal -- that would take time -- but once the broken bones knitted back together, they'd be able to pick up where they'd left off.

Or maybe not exactly where they'd left off; the only reason Alec wasn't on every MI-6 watch list around was because they believed he was dead. Still, that problem was months into the future. He'd deal with it when he had to.

He fed Alec a few more pieces of ice, before announcing "Breakfast." When Alec made a face, he added "As soon as you're well, I promise you, I'll take you out and you can have anything you want."

Alec grumbled something under his breath. James rifled through the supply of energy gel packets. "Let's see, do you want citrus flavor, mixed berry, strawberry banana or vanilla raspberry?" He was perfectly willing to give Alec the illusion of autonomy, in small matters.

Alec didn't seem to appreciate the privilege. "Each one as disgusting as the last," he muttered.

"You need to eat to heal."

"But why do I need to eat _those_?" He grimaced. "I would sell my soul for a strip of perfectly crisp bacon."

"I bring you breakfast in bed, and all you do is complain." Since Alec wasn't deciding, James picked out a packet of strawberry banana and ripped the corner off it. "Come on. Time to eat."

Alec frowned. "It's always breakfast."

"What?"

"Every time you give me something to eat, it's always breakfast. It can't always be morning when I wake up; the morphine doesn't last that long."

Especially at the reduced dosage, but if Alec hadn't figured that out, James wasn't going to mention it. "Why does it matter?"

"I don't know." He looked suddenly tired. "I was just -- I was just asking."

"And putting off the inevitable," James said, holding up the packet. "Open up."

For a minute, he thought Alec would protest, but then he let out a sigh and opened his mouth. James squeezed in a ribbon of the gel. "The faster you eat it, the sooner you'll be done."

Alec swallowed the mouthful. "Hurry up, then." When James didn't move fast enough, he snatched at the packet. James jerked it out of his reach.

"I can feed myself," Alec grumbled.

"I know you can." James studied him for a long moment. He wanted to be the one to feed Alec -- his sole provider -- but making an issue of it could be counterproductive. He handed over the packet. "Eat it all," he said.

Alec squeezed at the package. He got the first few swallows easily, but when he tried to squeeze the rest out, the stuff that had squished away into the corners, it wouldn't come.

"All of it," James reminded him.

He grimaced and fumbled, one-handed, to get the last bits. Finally he folded the packet over, held it between his thumb and his ring finger, and used his first two fingers to squeeze the last of it out. He swallowed it -- made a face -- and then handed the empty back to James, with a triumphant smile.

"Good for you," James said. "Let's see you wipe yourself. Then we'll talk."

Alec winced. "Low blow."

"Or wipe."

Alec rolled his eyes. "Juvenile." But there was a hint of a smile. James was glad that Alec was awake enough to engage in banter, even if it wasn't up to their usual level.

The few minutes seemed to have tired him out, though. His eyes drifted closed. James was about to reach for his book, when he spoke.

"You never did say why it was always breakfast."

Back to this. Why couldn't Alec ever let anything go? Was he starting to suspect -- "Technically speaking, it's breakfast because you're breaking your fast. No matter what time it is."

"What time _is_ it, anyway?"

"Why? Do you have a date?"

"With a wisecracking secret agent. Just tell me the damn time."

"It's a quarter 'til nine." He held his arm out, so Alec could see his watch.

"In the morning, or at night?"

"Morning," James lied. "So it would have been breakfast anyway."

Alec studied the watch for a long moment before asking, "Where's mine?"

It was sitting in a drawer in James's room, but he shrugged. "I'm not sure."

"How could you not know?"

"Your clothes had to be cut off." _Limbs twisted, sprouting joints in wrong places, pale bone erupting through red, torn flesh. Too much pain even for morphine -- he'd whimpered at every touch._ James shook his head to drive out the memory. "I'm afraid I had other things on my mind."

"Find it. Please?"

"If you need to know the time -- "

" -- I can always ask you, and be subjected to half an hour of allegedly witty remarks about my plans for the evening."

_Evening?_ Did Alec know that he was lying, about the time? The conversation was veering out of his control. Aloud, he said, "5 p.m., dinner. 6 p.m., sponge bath. Exciting life you lead, Alec."

"The sponge bath could be -- if you'd let it." Alec held his gaze for a moment -- long enough for the blood to start rushing downstream -- and then grinned. "Aside from the importance of scheduling my life of debauchery, the watch had some … it seems a shame to lose it, after hanging on to it for so long."

"Even though it is an old model?"

"Even so."

James smiled, relieved but not quite trusting the feeling. "I'll ask the doctor, at your next check-up."

He half-expected Alec to press for more. His eyes narrowed like they did when he was about to get stubborn -- or clever. But then he seemed to think better of it. "Thank you," he said.

"Anything for you, Alec."

"I wish I believed that."

James froze, feeling a trickle of ice down his spine and curl in his belly, a tendril of panic filter through his brain.

Alec grinned up at him. "If you really loved me, you'd make me pancakes."


	8. Sweetness

Alec stared up at the watch on his wrist -- James's watch, not his own -- and willed the hands to move faster. Willed James to hurry back. It hadn't even been two hours yet; James had said he'd be back in three.

Just before noon, James had told him that he would have to go out for a few hours. They were running low on supplies, and there were other things he needed to take care of. He'd be back in only a few hours, three at the most. Could he do that? Could he be brave?

He wished, now, that he'd taken James up on the offer for an extra shot of morphine -- just go to sleep, and when he woke up, James would be back. But he'd wanted to be brave. Wanted to show James how brave he could be. Wanted to show James that he didn't need him quite so badly.

"I can do it," he'd said, "As long as I know when you're coming back." And so James had let him borrow his watch, kissed him on the forehead, and said he'd be back in three hours. "I'll bring you a treat," he'd said, on his way out the door.

Now, though --

He'd wanted to show James that he didn't need him? Who the hell was he kidding. He needed James. Not just for physical survival -- that was a given. But if James decided tomorrow that taking care of him wasn't worth the trouble, and dropped him off at the nearest hospital?

He could imagine it all too easily. An anonymous patient in a charity ward, checked once an hour by a perfunctory nurse with cold hands. Abandoned. Alone.

He'd die.

"That is _not_ going to happen." Would it?

He could tell himself rationally that it wouldn't -- that if James had put up with his screaming, his wild accusations, why would he leave now?

_Maybe it's the smell?_

He wished he hadn't thought that. James had been keeping him as clean as possible, but large areas of his body that were under bandages and casts. A sponge bath was all well and good, but he'd been sweating. He smelled.

He wanted a _shower_. And a shave. He scratched at what was, truthfully, more a beard than stubble, now. What he wouldn't give to be clean --

But James didn't care. James loved him. James would never give him up.

He'd be back. Of course he'd be back. He stared at the watch, willing it to move faster. Finally it reached two hours.

Where had he gone? How much time did he really need to pick up some more of those disgusting energy gels packets? How far did he go?

What else was he going for?

A woman? There was always a woman, with James.

Natalya, perhaps?

He felt nausea rise, remembering the last time he'd seen her. On the helicopter, flying from Cuba to -- wherever they'd ended up.

He didn't even know where he'd been brought. He hadn't even thought of that. Didn't even know where he was. England? Somewhere in South America? Or had he been brought to the United States?

And where was James? That was the big problem. Staring up at the ceiling, putting his hand up to look at the watch -- for short spurts of time only; he didn't have the strength to keep it up for long. He couldn't stop wondering where James was. Imagining him with Natalya. Pretty, clean Natalya, with all her parts working.

He remembered waking up on the helicopter, to find her staring at him. Remembered the look on her face, like someone looking at a bug pinned to a board, and realizing the bug was still alive. The hatred and disgust in her eyes he could take; he'd earned them. But her pity had been more than he could bear.

And now James had gone to her.

He raised the watch again. _Two and a half hours._

Was he sitting with her, laughing? Telling her how he'd screamed, how he'd begged, how he'd cried? How he'd broken?

_Two hours and forty-five minutes._ Was he reluctantly getting out of her bed? Being pulled back down into her embrace? Deciding, perhaps, to stay a little longer?

_Two hours and fifty minutes. Fifty-five minutes._

Three hours. No James.

He let out a moan deep in his throat. He was late. He wasn't coming back --

The door swung open. "Hi, honey," James called. "I'm home."

"Cutting things a bit close, aren't you?" Not the best comment he'd ever managed, but it was the best he could do while his brain was flooding with relief.

"I'm on time." James came around, and pointed to the watch. The minute hand was still pointing straight up. "See? Made it."

"Yes." Alec turned his wrist, caught James's hand in his. "You did."

"I told you I'd be back."

"I should never have doubted you. It's just -- when I'm alone -- I think things. Bad things."

"There are no bad things here, Alec. Just you and me."

"You know that's not true. Death can come at any time. Out there…in here…no one is safe. You could do errands and get hit by a bus. You could be standing here and have an aneurysm. And where would that leave me?"

"If you're determined to be pessimistic: an asteroid could smash into the Earth and destroy everything."

"That wouldn't be so bad," Alec murmured. "At least we'd die _together_."

James smiled. "You're _such_ a romantic."

"Hmm…so what did you bring me?"

"Bring you?" James asked, with exaggerated innocence.

"You said you'd bring me a treat."

"So I did." He grinned, and pulled something out of his pocket. A handkerchief. He unwrapped it to reveal --

\-- strawberries. Half a dozen of them, small and red. He could smell them. His mouth started to water.

James selected one, and popped it into his mouth. He bit in, and sweetness burst into his mouth. He chewed slowly, and swallowed reluctantly. "Oh, God, that's good."

"Here. Have another."

This time, James let his hand linger as Alec chewed. How much more could he want? Other than a shower, of course -- but if James didn't mind, how bad could it be?

"Thank you," he whispered.

"A few strawberries -- it's the least I could do."

"No," he whispered. "For coming back."

"Hey." James stroked his hair. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Good. Now eat your strawberries."

He did -- and all too soon, they were gone. He finished the last one and swallowed reluctantly.

As he did so, a plan started to form in his mind. "What about you?" he asked.

"What _about_ me?"

"Didn't you have any strawberries?"

"No. All for you."

_Good._ "Have a taste," he said. He underscored the invitation by running the tip of his tongue along his lower lip.

James hesitated for a moment, then leaned over. Leaned closer, until Alec could feel the warmth of his body.

And then, abruptly, jerked back. He stood over him, gasping. "God, Alec, don't _do_ that!"

"Why not?" he demanded.

"It's not -- we can't -- "

"Can't what? Can't kiss?" He smiled up at James. "My mouth works."

"I noticed." James put one hand on his shoulder, then jerked it away to put it on the rail of the bed. "Alec, I'm not going to take advantage of you."

"What advantage?" He looked up at James. "I want this."

"You've got enough morphine in your system to knock out an elephant. How can you know _what_ you want?"

Alec rolled his eyes. Fine time James picked to start worrying about the niceties of consent. "I know I want this. Want to be kissed, to know you love me."

"Haven't I shown you enough, by taking care of you?" James demanded, his eyes narrowed with irritation.

"There's love, and then there's love."

"Oh, that's deep." James sounds more irritated by the minute; not at all what Alec wants. Try as he might, the words keep slipping out of his control. His mouth may work, but the brain it's hooked up to isn't functioning quite as well.

"I don't want your pity. I don't want you looking at me like I'm some _thing_ that needs to be cared for, more helpless even than a baby."

James looked down at him, then ran his hand along the cast that went from foot to waist. "Unfortunately, I don't think you have much choice in that matter."

Alec let out a moan. "Please. I want -- I want to know that somewhere, deep down, you still want me. That it's more than pity that keeps you here."

"And a kiss will prove it?"

"Yes!" He hadn't planned to beg, but here he was. "Please. One kiss."

"If I give you a kiss, will that be enough?"

"Yes!"

James smiled. "And you won't just ask for another, and another?"

"I won't."

"Do you promise?"

It's a bad deal, he knows it's a bad deal, but still he finds himself saying "Yes."

"All right then." James leans in, and gives him a tiny, closed-mouth peck on the lips.

He opens his mouth to protest, and James is there. Lips on his, just the tip of his tongue sliding inside his mouth. The kiss is gentle, and sweeter than strawberries, and he wants it to go on forever. He wants more, wants to grab James and hold him close, but he's afraid that if he presses the matter, James will pull away. He can't resist, though, putting one tentative hand on James's arm, feeling the steel-cable strength of his muscles.

And then, too soon, it's over. He gasps as James pulls away, wants to beg him for more, but he's promised he wouldn't. James slides out of his grasp, leaving him with only the memories of sweetness.


	9. Too Far

Alec shoved his hand against the side rail, trying to shift to a more comfortable position. Not that there was any way he could really be comfortable, but he was restless, irritable.

He was bored. That was the real problem. He wanted distraction, wanted escape. He wanted to sleep but he couldn't. He supposed he'd built up a tolerance to the morphine. Plus it was too bright in here. He put his arm over his eyes, in an attempt to block out the light. Didn't work. "James -- could you shut the light off?"

"All right." Alec heard the soft slide of paper against vinyl, and then the scrape of a chair. Then James was standing beside him. He kissed Alec on the forehead. "Good night, then."

"Night?" He looked at James. "You're not -- not leaving, are you?"

"I'll be right next door. Within calling distance. The doors will be open; I'll be able to hear you. I can be here in five seconds if you need me."

"But why do you have to go?"

"I was reading."

_What -- he didn't have a table lamp?_ "Stay. Please. I don't think I can sleep anyway."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." And damn James for forcing that choice. For putting him in this position in the first place. "Please stay."

"All right. Anything you want."

_Anything?_ He wished he could believe that. Wished he knew what to ask for, so he could test the theory.

He wished he knew what he wanted.

Frustrated, he pounded his fist against the rail of the bed. His head ached, a dull, pounding throb. Why the hell wasn't the morphine helping? He rubbed ineffectually at his forehead.

"Hey," James said. "You don't look good. Is there anything -- "

"No. Maybe -- I don't know."

"Maybe what?"

"I don't know." Impulsively he said, "I want to get out of here."

"Out where -- to the hall? The other room?"

He hated it when James played obtuse. "Out_side_. I want some fresh air, a change of scenery."

"You can't."

"What happened to 'anything I want'?"

"It's not safe."

"What do you mean, not safe?"

"They'll be looking for you. They _have been_ looking."

"How? Why?" He pressed his hand against his forehead. "It was Natalya, wasn't it?"

James blinked at him. "N-natalya?"

"She's the only one who knew I was alive."

"I told her you died. Why would she doubt it?"

"Because that's the kind of girl she is. She would want to see the body." He found himself smiling. "She's nobody's fool, James -- certainly not yours."

A flash of anger, in those cold blue eyes. "Believe me, Natalya knows nothing."

"She wouldn't need to know. All she would have to do is suspect. A phone call or two, a word in the right ear, and suddenly, you're as much a traitor as I am."

James's eyes narrowed. "I am _not_ a traitor."

"You've been aiding and abetting a fugitive for the past -- however long it's been since you brought me here." He knew he should just shut up, the look on James's face should be warning enough, but he was tired of the constant, dull ache, the unchanging view of the ceiling, James's insufferable smugness. "I was going to destroy the British economy, going to destroy as much of your beloved England as I possibly could, and here you are, helping me escape justice. I'd hardly call that loyalty."

"One has nothing to do with the other."

"Even _you_ aren't stupid enough to believe that, James." Finally, he was starting to feel alive. The argument was getting his blood pumping, clearing out the cobwebs in his brain. "We can't hide down here forever, and if you're right -- or even if you're not, even if Natalya's not as bright as I think she is, and no one knows I'm alive -- we can't hide down here forever. Sooner or later, you're going to have to face reality. Sooner or later, you're going to have to choose. The friend or the mission, James -- which way will you jump _this_ time?" He bared his teeth at James. "Me, or England -- who will you betray?"

"I am not going to betray _anyone,_ Alec." James's voice shook, with the effort it took to maintain control. Alec knew he was going too far, but this was the first genuine emotion he'd seen since James brought him down here. He couldn't resist pushing, just one step more.

"One way or another, you're going to end up a traitor, James. The only question is -- to whom."

"Damn you, Alec!" James kicked at the bed, sending it rolling across the room. Alec resisted the impulse to grab the side rail, as his view skidded to the side. Vertigo twisted through his stomach, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Killing me would certainly solve the problem. And perhaps you could actually manage it this time, with me flat on my back." The bed seemed to have stopped rolling; he risked opening his eyes. "Or perhaps not; even when you have me utterly at your mercy, you still can't seem to -- "

James let out an inarticulate bellow, and slammed his foot against the side of the bed. Harder, this time. Alec braced himself for another sliding roll -- but this time, the bed began to tip. He watched, in slow motion, as it started to go over.

He had time to see every detail; the panicked look on James's face as he grabbed the rail, the slow slide of the room as the bed went over anyway, the cracks in the cement floor as it came flying to meet him, and his own hand out in a desperate attempt to ward it off.

It didn't work. He crashed into the ground, hard. The world exploded into white light and agony.


	10. Aftermath

Alec -- Alec!" James vaulted the overturned gurney, and knelt at Alec's side. Alec was moaning, pushing ineffectively at the floor in a kind of one-armed push-up. James rolled him onto his back, and the moans faded to quiet whimpers.

"Alec, oh God, I'm sorry." He reached out to cup Alec's cheek -- but Alec winced, and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Please don't hurt me! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He curled his good arm up to protect himself. "Please don't hurt me!" Or maybe it was _Please don't hate me._

"I won't hurt you, Alec." But Alec still whimpered, still huddled as much as he could. James stroked his hair. "I'm the one who's sorry."

"Please -- "

"Shh, Alec. Shh. Shh." He began to run his hands over Alec's body, looking for injuries. "Alec, I need you to calm down. All right?"

"Yes." His voice was still too high, and frightened. But at least he'd stopped that incessant whimpering.

"I need you to tell me where it hurts."

"Wrist. Shoulder. And -- here." He moved his hand to cup his collarbone.

"All right. Are you feeling dizzy?"

"No."

Though, James knew, he might not, since he was lying on his back.

James picked up a penlight, and looked into Alec's eyes. His pupils contracted evenly. "Follow the light with your eyes."

Alec obeyed. Maybe he wasn't injured too badly. "I need to see your collarbone," he said.

"Please. No. It hurts."

"I'm only going to look. I need to see if -- if I've hurt you, Alec." He wrapped his hand around Alec's forearm -- carefully avoiding his wrist. If he was injured -- "That's it, Alec."

He looked at the collarbone. There was a distinctive lump. He ran his thumb across it, and Alec let out a scream.

"Alec -- I'm sorry. I had to see -- "

"Don't hurt me. Don't hurt me!"

"I'm not going to hurt you, Alec. I _love_ you."

Alec twisted his head against the collar, trying to escape. Tears spilled from his eyes. "Hurts. James … "

"I'm sorry, Alec. I'm so sorry. For everything." He clenched his hand into a fist. "Why did you -- why did you have to -- "

"I'm sorry, James, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I didn't mean _any_ of it."

"I'm the one who's sorry, Alec." He slid his fingers down Alec's cheek, tracing the course of his tears. "For everything."

Alec bit his lip, but said nothing. James decided not to press him. Instead, he needed to concentrate on the practicalities; dealing with Alec's injuries, and getting him back onto the gurney. Getting into contact with the doctor. Later, when Alec had calmed down, they would talk. Alec would understand that he hadn't meant to hurt him.

When he was in pain, though, wouldn't be the best time to try. He went to the medicine cabinet and took out the morphine. Filled a syringe, and brought it back.

"Alec -- listen to me. I'm going to have to do things. Things that will probably hurt."

"Please -- no."

"Shh." He stroked Alec's hair. "I have the morphine here, if you want it. Do you want it?"

"Yes. Please." He held out his arm for the shot. James gave him the injection, and sat beside him, stroking his hair until he started to relax. His eyes were still wide open, though; there was fear there.

"Alec," James whispered. "It's all right. I'm not going to hurt you." He stroked his hair. "If I'd done it on purpose, believe me, I'd have made you hurt a _lot_ worse."

Alec closed his eyes, and whispered "I know."


	11. Monsters

"If I'd done it on purpose, believe me, I'd have made you hurt a _lot_ worse."

James's voice is cool, professional; he's just stating a fact. Alec has watched James inflict pain; knows exactly how good he is at it. How ruthless. There is a perverse comfort in this knowledge; he feels the last of the tension dissolve. "I know," he whispers, closing his eyes.

For a long moment, James just sits there, stroking his hair. Strong hands, hands that have taken countless lives. Alec thinks he could live on just that touch. He lets himself sink deeper, toward the oblivion he craves.

Then the hands are gone, taking all the warmth in the world with them.

He hears the sound of shoe leather against concrete, as James gets to his feet. Clanking sounds, which some part of his mind registers as setting the gurney back on its wheels. Then the hands are back, but not gentle on his face or hair. Cool, proffessional, grasping him under his shoulders. A distant pain twinges in the injured one. For a moment, he nurtures the hope that James will put his arms around him, hold him. Just for a minute. Instead, he starts to slide him onto the gurney.

Stiff as he is with braces and casts, it's an awkward proposition. Alec thinks, vaguely, of helping; if he holds on to the side of the bed, James will be able to let go long enough to move his feet. But there is a great gulf between the thought and the action, and in the end, it's just too much trouble.

It doesn't matter. After a few awkward moments, James has him settled back in the gurney. It's only marginally more comfortable; between the casts and the braces, not much of him touches the mattress, but at least he doesn't have cold concrete transmitting up to make splintered bones ache.

He's still cold. Maybe if he asks, James will get him a blanket?

Maybe if he asks, James will become angry.

He knows that's rediculous; he _made_ James angry before. It was his own damn fault.

But James shouldn't get angry. James isn't _supposed to_ get angry.

James is supposed to be in control. Inflicting pain with deliberation, always careful to give him only as much as he can bear. Taking him to the edge, holding him -- dropping him just far enough to break. Not enough to --

As long as James is in control, he's safe.

But James hadn't been in control. He'd seen it in his eyes, the fury when he'd kicked the gurney. And then the wild panic when it had started to go over. _That_ hadn't been part of his plan.

He'd pushed James too far. He'd wanted to see that cool façade crack, and it was no one's fault but his own that he'd gotten what he'd wanted.

Blue eyes flaring with rage. Muscles tensed for a fight, beneath his custom-tailored shirt. Alec could imagine that fury running truly out of control. Leaving him nothing but a broken corpse.

Worse yet, there's a part of him would welcome dying at James's hands.

Always before, he's been safe. Safe with James, because James was unbreakable. If he wasn't, if the ice beneath his feet was ready to shatter …

And he's trapped down here with him. Nobody -- except possibly Natalya, assuming she isn't already dead at James's hands -- even knows he's _alive_. MI-6 thinks he's dead. There will be no rescue -- not even the kind that comes with a bullet in the brain.

It's just the two of them. James and Alec. Alec and James.

_No one here but us monsters._

The thought is almost enough to push him to the surface. _Almost._

But it's safer down here. Unconscious, he's got a lot less chance of unleashing the monster that sleeps behind James's eyes. Or maybe the one that's coiled just beneath his own skin.


	12. The Long Silence

James stowed the last of the supplies, and then headed into Alec's sickroom. Alec was still asleep; James had given him a dose of morphine so that he wouldn't panic at being left alone -- though really, it would serve him right.

The drug should be wearing off soon, though.

And then?

Then, Alec was through giving him the silent treatment. One way or another.

He set the equipment on the card table, and went to take a closer look at Alec. As far as James could tell, he hadn't moved; his left hand, in the plastic brace the doctor had recommended as a precautionary measure, was curled loosely on his chest.

The doctor didn't think his wrist was broken, but without x-rays, there was no way to be sure. As she did every time, the doctor had told him that Alec belonged in a hospital. And … had that been suspicion in her eyes when he'd told her that Alec had fallen?

Or was it just his guilty conscience?

It didn't matter; the doctor wasn't here _now_. Only Alec mattered. And Alec had been giving him the silent treatment for the past week.

Not completely, of course; he would answer yes or no to questions, though he wouldn't elaborate no matter how much James prodded. He would do as he was told. But he wouldn't initiate conversations, wouldn't even ask for ice or morphine. He kept his eyes focused in the middle distance.

James had only given Alec the minimum amount of morphine for the amount of time he was going to be gone; he was already starting to stir a bit. James kissed his forehead, and then turned to the equipment. He plugged in the electric skillet, and twisted the knob to maximum.

When he turned back to Alec, his eyes were open. He did not look at James, though. Even when James put himself in Alec's line of sight, his eyes did not focus.

"Would you like some ice?" James asked.

Alec was silent for a long moment, before he whispered "Yes."

James dipped his fingers into the cup, and slid a chip of ice into Alec's mouth. Alec accepted it in silence, and closed his eyes.

"Hey," James said. "Don't go back to sleep. It's almost time for breakfast."

Alec didn't deign to respond.

"Come on, Alec. Wake up. Open your eyes."

He obeyed, as always. But he still wouldn't focus his eyes on James. It was, James supposed, the only defiance he could effectively give.

That wasn't how this was supposed to go. He was supposed to be the center of Alec's universe. Not something to be ignored. Even if Alec _did_ have good reason to be angry.

One way or another, he told himself.

The skillet was getting hot.

While he was waiting, he fed Alec another piece of ice. While his mouth was still open, he leaned over and kissed him. Gentle, almost chaste; he wanted Alec wanting more.

No response. James had to be impressed at Alec's control.

He pulled away, grabbed another chip of ice, and crossed the room to check on the skillet again. Not quite hot enough, but close. He skittered the ice across the surface, listening to it sizzle as it melted.

An idea struck him then, and he returned to fish out yet another chip of ice. He raised his hand as if he was going to give it to Alec -- but at the last minute, he let it drop. It slid down the side of Alec's neck and landed against the mattress.

"Sorry about that," James said. He reached down to retrieve it, and drew it up slowly, trailing it against Alec's skin as he did so.

No response.

The skillet was ready; he could hear the last of the water sizzle away. He unwrapped the package of bacon, and laid four thick slices in the pan. The sizzle of fat, the scent curling up through the air -- there was no way Alec could ignore it. James kept his back turned; if Alec thought he was unobserved, he might be more likely to weaken.

When the bacon was done cooking, James blotted it on a paper towel. He took the bacon, and started to eat it as he walked over to Alec's side.

Still no reaction. He would have expected _some_thing, at least, if only a half-involuntary lick of the lips.

"How do you like your bacon, Alec?"

Long silence. Finally, "Yes."

He had to laugh at that. "Good try, Alec."

Alec closed his eyes. James waved a piece of bacon beneath his nose. He had to be tempted by now; bacon was the first food he'd asked for.

But there was no response.

"If you're not hungry … " James finished the bacon and shut the skillet off. "If you want some bacon, just ask. Or anything else. Anything that's within my power."

He'd hoped it would be an irresistible invitation; that Alec would make the most outrageous suggestion he could.

Outrageous or not, if he could manage it, he would.

But there was no response.

"Well," he said, "It's been a long day. I think I'll go and get some sleep." Alec couldn't pass that one up, could he; breakfast right before bed? "Call me if you need me."

Alec just closed his eyes.

So it was to be a contest of wills? Fine. He'd play.

He walked out the door, went and got a folding chair and a book from his bedroom, and sat down to wait.

Ten hours later, he was still waiting. He dragged his mattress out and slept in front of the door, so he could hear Alec if he called. He slept lightly, but there was no sound from inside the room. After a fitful six hours, he returned to the seat and tried to read. Twenty hours passed, with no call from Alec. Thirty. He slept again and woke up, with still no sound.

He had to be getting thirsty.

What if something was really wrong?

What if Alec had _died_?

"He couldn't -- he wouldn't do that to me -- "

His nerve broke. He dashed through the door.

"Alec -- Alec, speak to me!"

For a long minute, Alec just lay there, staring up at the ceiling. Finally, he blinked. James let out a sigh of relief. "I'm so glad you're all right."

Alec closed his eyes.

"Hey," James said. "Are you thirsty?"

He should have been desperate for water by now, after nearly two days. But he just lay there, eyes closed. He didn't seem to have moved at all.

James grabbed the cup of water from the table, and stumbled from the room. He poured out the water. He opened the freezer door, and reached for the ice, with a hand that he suddenly realized was shaking. He scooped up the ice and headed back into Alec's room. Fed him chips of ice until the cup was empty. And tried to figure out what he was going to do next.

Because Alec wasn't giving him the silent treatment, or being stubborn, or faking. He'd pushed him too far, and Alec was gone, deep within himself.

And for the life of him, James couldn't figure out how to bring him back.


	13. Dead to the World

Six weeks.

Six long weeks, with not a word out of Alec beyond "yes" or "no". Without so much as an acknowledgement that James existed.

Alec was gone, somewhere deep inside himself.

Not completely gone; he still obeyed simple commands. But that was no consolation. The compliance was worse -- far worse -- than his previous defiance.

A dissociative state, the doctor had called it; she'd repeated her advice to take him to a hospital, or at least to bring in a specialist to see him, but she had no concrete advice to give him.

The only thing that had saved her life was the knowledge that another doctor would be hard to come by.

He'd tried everything he could think of to lure Alec back out; giving him plenty of morphine to keep him comfortable, tapering him off the morphine to try and wake him up, alternating hot and cold on his hand, and sticking his fingers with pins. On the more pleasant side, he'd given him all his favorite foods; strawberries of course, and bacon -- even made him pancakes. Alec had eaten with the same obedience as he swallowed the energy gels. One time, he'd even poured a shot of vodka down his throat. That had gotten the closest thing to a reaction; Alec had choked a bit as it went down.

Then, he'd gone to sleep.

Once, desperate, James had even tried to seduce Alec into waking up. It had been as much fun as kissing a corpse, and about as effective.

Now, though, he had another idea. One he'd been reluctant to try; it wasn't without risk. But at this point …

It was worth a try.

First, though, he had preparations to make.

He started with a quick run up the ladder to check the weather. Even at midday, it was chilly; summer was over. He'd need a blanket for Alec; weak as he was, a chill might kill him.

But being outside, seeing the sky -- that was the last thing he'd asked for. So maybe that would be what brought him back.

While he was topside, he made a quick reconnaissance of the surrounding area.

The bomb shelter had been built by an eccentric millionaire; his money would have been better spent on fire suppression. The mansion it had been beside was nothing but ruins; that didn't mean that there wouldn't be tourists prowling around local kids looking for a thrill -- or not-so-young kids looking for some privacy.

If anyone realized that the bomb shelter was still operational -- that someone was living here --

Alec couldn't be moved. Not yet. Maybe in another month. A few weeks, even. But for now, he needed to be cautious.

There was no one around; no signs of anyone having been there since the last time he'd been up here. He'd memorized the rubble, where the beams lay. They had been undisturbed since then.

Everything was as it should be.

He went down below, and got Alec ready; unzipped a down sleeping bag and draped it around him, then tucked it in to keep him warm. Alec woke up, but didn't respond; not even the slightest curiosity. Just blank, inanimate nothingness. And after James finished, his eyes drifted closed again.

James double-checked to make sure the rails were locked into place, and then wheeled the gurney out to the lift. It was really just a platform, raised and lowered by a chainfall; it went up to what was ostensibly a large gardening shed. James pulled on the chain to raise the platform, then scrambled up the ladder to join Alec.

Alec's eyes were open again; activity did that sometimes. "I'll be right back," James told him. Then he took a final look around, just a check to see that everything was secure, before he opened the door.

Carefully, he wheeled Alec out the door, and into the outside.

It was a beautiful day, despite the chill. Little puffy clouds scudded across the blue sky. In the walled garden, though, they were mostly safe from all but the occasional gust. James lowered Alec's gurney, so that he was out of even that wind, and knelt down on the grass beside him.

"Look at that, Alec," James said. "Blue sky. Birds. Beautiful, isn't it?"

Alec whispered, "Yes," but James wondered, as he so often did, how much of an answer that was. He suspected that Alec was only giving him the answer he thought he wanted to hear. Which spoke of some self-awareness; Alec was still in there, somewhere, still reachable.

He had to believe that.

"This is what you wanted. To go outside. To see the sky. I know it's not much of a view, but it's a change. And I promise you, Alec, if you just wake up -- once you're well enough, which should be in just a couple of months, I'll take you anywhere you want to go. Show you anything you want to see.

"Dammit, Alec, it's not fair! I did all of this for you, rescued you, patched you up, hid you! I would've moved Heaven and Earth to see you well again, have you mine -- but now you're farther from me than ever!"

James felt the last shred of his control break. He leaned across Alec's chest, trying to hold him -- which was like trying to cradle a mannequin. Finally, finally, he let the tears flow.

He'd broken Alec, not just once, but twice. Breaking his body had been easy; all he'd had to do was let go. But breaking his spirit … _that_ had taken some doing.

And should he be surprised, then, to find he'd broken Alec beyond any hope of repair?

Alone in the garden, alone with the barely-living corpse that had once been his partner in so many senses of the world, James sobbed. Finally, he exhausted himself, and just lay there, his head on Alec's chest, his eyes seeing nothing.

_Is this what it feels like,_ he wondered, _to be Alec?_

He must have slept, because he woke, in the chill of twilight. He checked Alec, and found him trembling, even under the heavy down blanket. With numbed fingers, he raised the gurney and pushed him back inside.

He had to have hope, he told himself. Alec had to get better. His body would heal, why wouldn't his mind?

And maybe one would lead to the other. Maybe once the bandages came off, once he could walk again, once he wasn't so dependent, he would feel safe enough to rejoin the world.

And if he didn't?

James pushed the gurney back into the sickroom, and stood there, staring down at Alec. If, after everything, he didn't wake up, James might have to admit defeat. And then, there was only one thing he could do.

He would take Alec into his bed, and hold him until he fell asleep. Then, he would take out his gun, and put it in Alec's mouth, and blow away the back of his skull. And then he would put the gun in his own mouth, and pull the trigger.

And then they would be together forever.


	14. Inside

For a long time, everything was quiet. Not complete silence, just a restful trickle of sound, like listening to voices from another room.

He could hear James talking to him; could even make out the words, if he listened. But most of the time, he didn't bother. It was all the same; apologies, pleas for him to wake up -- promises to make things better.

Sometimes, though, he asked a question; did he want ice? Morphine?

Usually, he said yes. It was easier than trying to decide what he wanted.

Other times, it was an order. These he obeyed; he didn't want to make James angry.

But mostly, he just ignored the voice. It was just so much background noise.

One day, though, he heard a different voice. A stranger's voice; a woman's voice.

What the hell was James thinking, bringing a woman here?

His wanted to open his eyes, to see the competition, but the lids felt too heavy. He remembered the pinprick in his arm, he'd been given morphine -- but was it just now, or hours before? Yesterday?

Something cold pressed against his chest. The woman said, "Take a deep breath."

Things fell into place. Stethoscope. Doctor. Which still didn't eliminate the possibility that she was one of James's girlfriends. Considering that he'd fucked his way through half of London.

"Alec, wake up," James said. "Take a deep breath."

He obeyed. The stethoscope moved, and the woman -- the doctor -- told him to take a breath. He obeyed; the whole process repeated itself a few more times.

"He should be in hospital," the doctor said. Her accent wasn't quite British; Indian, he thought, or Pakistani.

"I told you before; that's not feasible." James sounded irritated. Not at him, though. That was good.

"He needs to be monitored. Especially in his current condition. He should be in a hospital, where he would have access to not only medical care, but psychological experts. Please. Before you _do_ manage to kill him."

"How's your brother, Doctor Singh? Staying out of trouble, I trust? I'd hate for the authorities to find out -- "

"You've made your point, Mr. Smith." Her voice was crisp and cold. So she wasn't one of his women.

Why should he care? James _hurt_ him.

But James loved him.

But James hurt him.

But --

That train of thought led to madness. Easier just to let go, fall back into sleep. Let James and the doctor poke at him in his absence.

* * *

Sometimes, things would intrude at the edge of his consciousness. Sensation, sometimes pain. Sometimes even distant hints of pleasure; James would touch him, kiss him. But more often, he was just left to drift in the dark.

He didn't mind. It was peaceful.

* * *

Warm, wet washcloth. Sponge bath. This is good, if a bit humiliating; he's been filthy for so long. It would be so nice to be clean, really clean. He won't be, even after this. But it's a start.

And it feels good. The moist warmth. The soft-rough feel of the washcloth on his skin. James is taking his time, too. Sliding the washcloth across his shoulders, down his chest -- there is something significant, but he can't grasp it, so he lets the thought drift away, and just enjoys the sensations as they trickle slowly into his brain.

Hot, wet mouth. Lips sliding against his. Tongue probing inside. The taste of toothpaste and vodka.

What is James up to now?

And then the mouth is gone; he's vaguely disappointed.

"Come on, Alec -- it's time to wake up."

Why should he, he wonders, when he can stay down here in the dark and be safe?

As if in answer to his question, the lips are back. Insistent, demanding -- he yields to the implied order, letting James in. Letting himself be kissed, caressed; there is a hand on his chest, fingers sliding to one nipple, to tweak it. Then the mouth, trailing down chin, neck, chest to join the hand.

Even after nine years, James remembers _exactly_ how to touch him.

If he wanted to, he could raise his hand, tangle it in James's hair, and tell him "don't stop." But that will mean coming out of the dark, breaking cover, and taking the chance that this isn't just the bait in another of James's traps.

Easier not to decide.

Then James pulls back. "Damn you, Alec," he whispers, in a voice that cuts like ice.

* * *

He knew, in theory, that time passed. Time always did, be it three minutes or nine years. But from where he lay, wrapped in the cocoon of his own body, he couldn't see any visible evidence. It was always the same view, when he looked out; white acoustic tiles, two strips of fluorescent lights, unadorned walls.

James was always around somewhere; even if he was not in sight, Alec could hear his breathing or catch a whiff of his aftershave. James would always be here; there was a certain comfort to that.

* * *

James's pain was almost enough to pull him out of the dark. The sound of his sobs, wretched, despairing. Even after everything, he still loved James.

But he couldn't forget the anger in James's eyes. The way James had looked, when he'd kicked the gurney over.

And worse yet, the coldness in his eyes, when he'd let go.

It's cold here now, too; the view has changed. They're outside, he's lying under a blue sky.

The sky was blue in Cuba, too, when he fell through it. He remembered looking up at James, silhouetted against that sky. The agony of shattered bones dull in comparison to the knowledge that James had done it to him.

James had killed him.

And then James had come for him. Saved him from dying in fire, carried him away from the death he'd earned, and brought him to a hell of his own making.

Love? Revenge? He still wasn't sure of James's motives. How could he be; he couldn't even comprehend his own. Why he'd betrayed James, why he'd tried to kill him.

_It seemed like a good idea at the time._

Trying to sort it out was only making things more confused. James seemed to have fallen asleep; he decided that that was probably the smartest thing to do under the circumstances.

* * *

When he came to the surface again, it was dark. It seemed that he'd been sleeping for a long time, or maybe he'd never truly woken.

He was back inside, safe and warm.

But he missed the sky.

He heard a snore, one he would recognize anywhere. How many times had he sat alert on watch and listened to that snore, or drifted off to sleep listening to it?

He could do that again now, and pretend that the discomfort that traced his spine and wrapped his lower body was because he was sleeping on hard rock.

The snoring stopped, and James moaned in his sleep.

Good. He deserved a few nightmares.

He skittered away, toward the dark, spooked by the strength of his own anger. It wasn't safe. Rage, love, need -- they had no place here. They belonged outside, with James.

It's not safe out there.

James is out of control.

James -- the James he knew, worked with, fucked, loved, hated, and could never defeat -- was always in control. Even -- especially -- when the situation was out of control, he never was. He was always at the wheel, turning in the direction of the skid, and getting the situation in hand just before it went off the cliff.

James out of control is like a failure of gravity. Up is down, or maybe sideways. He has no direction, no way to orient himself.

He closed his eyes, retreating back inside himself. At least if he's hiding, maybe it won't hurt as badly when James finally snaps, and --

\-- and he can't do anything about it, because --

\-- because he's hiding in a cave somewhere in the back of his mind, a primitive, an _animal_, an abused puppy waiting for the next kick.

_Fuck that._

He's spent the last god-knows-how-long living in fear, hiding from James. Afraid of what James will do to him.

And why?

James has already defeated him, destroyed his plans. Left his body a shattered wreck. Denied him morphine as he screamed in agony. Fucked with his mind in a thousand different ways. Kicked his bed over when he tried to fight. Sent him hiding in the recesses of his mind, and then molested him as he lay helpless.

And after all of this -- or maybe, in some twisted way, _because_ of it -- he still loves James.

So. James has lost control. He's got the pedal pushed all the way to the floor, and he's heading toward a cliff. This leaves him with two choices; he can huddle in the back seat and pray it won't hurt too much when they hit bottom -- or he can make a grab for the wheel and try to save both of them.

_Ready to save the world again?_

Alec took a deep breath, and opened his eyes.


	15. Awake

Alec grabbed the guard rail of the bed, clutched it like a drowning man. He felt like he was drowning -- drowning in sensation. The dull ache that permeated his body, the burning pressure of the spine brace against his back, the throb of muscles held too long in one position.

And he was so thirsty.

He was tempted just to go to sleep. James would feed him ice when he woke; he could figure out what to do without being distracted by thirst.

But the thought of that deep blackness both tantalized and terrified him. It would be easy, so easy, just to sink back down. Surrender. But if he let himself slip down again, how long it would take him to come back?

If he ever did. He remembered how tempting it had been to just stay down there.

He had to focus.

_Status check._

That was easy; he was immobilized. Flat on his back, with only one marginally functional limb. In the care of a not-quite-sane former lover.

He'd been in worse situations. Marginally.

His breathing felt easier than it had before; when he checked his chest, he discovered that the bandages that had constricted his ribs were gone.

How long had he been under? And how long had he been here before that?

He was still wrapped in casts, his spine still braced. That limited the timespan. He tried to remember how long it took broken bones to heal; three months for the spine and neck, he recalled, four months for the limbs. Approximately.

That was assuming James hadn't decided to keep him in the casts beyond the time they were medically necessary. He wouldn't put it past him. It would be an ideal way to insure his continued dependence.

He fumbled with the straps that secured the neck brace -- but hesitated. If he was wrong -- if his neck was still broken --

\-- he could sever his spine. Paralyze himself for life.

That wasn't a risk he was willing to take.

His arm was already tired. Not surprising; he hadn't been moving it much. Atrophy had set in. He hated to think how weak he'd be, once the casts came off.

He hoped James was reading up on physical therapy.

He needed to talk to the doctor.

He needed --

He didn't know _what_ he needed. Didn't know what to ask for, even if James gave him the option. He'd been lost for so long …

Black despair threatened to drown him. He was weak and exhausted and so thirsty. The deep, quiet darkness called to him. He could almost convince himself that he'd wake in a few hours, when James got up --

No. He needed those hours to plan, needed to be awake _before_ James was, so he could plan the encounter. Control it as best he could.

He wanted ice, though.

Good. He had one thing for his list of demands. A cup of ice within reach at all times. And -- what else?

He tried to shift in the bed; his body ached. Had to do something about that, too. But not morphine. He needed to be fully aware, if he was going to match wits with James. The situation put him at enough of a disadvantage to begin with.

James controlled the flow of information. He could manipulate his sense of time, could fuck with his reality in any number of ways, and Alec had absolutely no outside verification of anything.

He needed to talk to the doctor. If he asked, would James allow it? He couldn't be sure, and if he asked and was refused, he knew James would watch him carefully.

He needed to have a more accurate picture of his physical condition. He needed to know how long he'd been here. He touched his hand to his face, feeling the growth of beard. It was about as long as it had been that one time he'd gone undercover on the fishing trawler, and that had taken close to three months to grow.

So. Three months as an outside estimate. Unless James had trimmed it, to make him think he hadn't been here as long as he had. He couldn't discount that possibility, either. He scratched at it; he wanted a shave.

Another item for the list. Practical, too; it would give him a way to mark time.

James mumbled in his sleep. He was starting to wake up; Alec needed to decide on a strategy before that happened. He tried to remember the lectures on behavior modification and game theory from decades ago.

He knew his goals. Autonomy, comfort, and some way to test his reality, in at least a small way. And James? James wanted him; awake and responsive. If James gave him something he wanted, he could reward James with a smile, a word -- even eye contact, at first, would be effective. But he'd have to be careful. If James sensed he was being manipulated, he'd try to regain control.

As a strategy, it left a good deal to be desired. But then, how many times had he been dropped behind enemy lines with only a gun and the name of a target? He could feel the trickle of anticipation in his blood already.

He heard James yawn. Stir. The foam mattress sighed, as he pushed himself to his feet. Alec shut his eyes before the lights came on, then waited and listened as James padded over to his side.

_So. Let the games begin._


	16. Opening Gambit

The nightmares never really went away. They were always lurking, just below the surface; even when he did not dream, James would awake feeling uneasy.

This night, though, he'd dreamed.

In the dream, he'd been an old, old man, seventy or so. Still here, still watching over Alec, who inexplicably had not aged a day. And he'd known, with the clarity of a dream, that Alec would never awaken, and that he would spend the rest of his life there.

He'd woken in a cold sweat.

Now, chilled, he rose from his bed. Turned the light on, and went to check Alec.

No change. Not that he had expected one, but he always hoped. The fantasy had played over and over in his mind, during the past month and a half; one day, he would find Alec back; eyes open and focused, mind sharp. Saying more than yes.

Though most of him was resigned to the fact that it would never happen.

Rather than give in to despair, he embraced the mindlessness of routine with a monk's fervor. Take care of Alec; ice first, keep him hydrated. He went into the other room to fill the cup, and then returned to Alec's side.

"Alec, wake up."

Slowly -- James would have said reluctantly, if he believed there was any real awareness there -- Alec opened his eyes.

"Would you like some ice?"

"Yes."

Was it his imagination, or had there been a little more strength to that answer, a little less hesitation? Not daring to hope, he fished out a chip of ice and slid it into Alec's mouth. Watched as his eyes drifted closed.

"Come on, Alec. You need more than that."

Eyes open again and -- for just one moment, they seemed to focus.

"Alec -- can you hear me?" He kept his voice soft, afraid of frightening Alec away. Afraid, too, of believing it himself, and having his hopes dashed once again.

Alec's eyes slid out of focus again, and drifted shut.

James felt the disappointment rise in him, like nausea. For a moment -- just a moment -- he'd thought he'd had Alec back again. He bent over, to press a kiss against Alec's forehead.

An odd impulse crossed his mind, born perhaps of too many fairy tales as a child; he changed targets, and kissed Alec on the lips.

The lips parted beneath his. Reflex. Mindless obedience. James did not pursue the matter; with Alec in this state, it would feel too much like rape. He pulled back.

Alec's eyes were open again. Staring into nothing? Staring at the ceiling? James couldn't tell.

And then, Alec blinked. His eyes focused, his brows drew together in a faint frown. James wanted to pull Alec close, to tell him how worried he'd been -- but he didn't dare, for fear of frightening him. Instead, he forced a light tone. "Hey. Sleeping beauty."

"Not -- beauty." The words were clear, though Alec's voice was weak. "Need a shower."

James felt his heart twist in his chest. He stretched out his hand but then drew it back, afraid to do something wrong, something that would drive Alec away again. "Hey," he said softly. "Hey."

But Alec's eyes were already starting to lose focus. If he didn't act quickly, he might lose him anyway. "Stay with me," he begged. "Please. Don't leave me again!"

"M'here," Alec mumbled. His eyes were still unfocused, though; his hand on the blanket still limp. James could see him fading in front of him. He grasped the limp fingers, splayed his free hand over Alec's cheek, trying desperately to anchor him.

"Stay with me, Alec. Please. I'd do anything to keep you here. Anything you want," he whispered. "Anything."

Alec's eyes focused again, but he looked lost. "I don't know," he said, in a small, broken voice.

"You don't know what?"

"What I _want_!" James could see the plea in his eyes; the desperation.

"Let's start with the basics, then." Give him something to focus on. "Are you in any pain?"

"Just ache. Not bad."

"Do you want morphine?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them; the last thing he wanted to do was to send Alec back to sleep. He wondered if he had any bottles of saline somewhere, to make a substitution.

His worry was needless; when Alec said "No," there was force behind it. James wondered if he shared the same worry. If he even knew how long he'd been near-catatonic and uncommunicative.

If he feared it, that must mean he _wanted_ to stay. Didn't it? "I can -- there's some aspirin -- " Getting it down his throat would be the challenge.

"Be fine. Not that bad."

"Are you sure? Tell me if it gets worse." He returned to his checklist. "Are you thirsty?"

" … no … "

"Hungry?"

Alec frowned in thought before he said, "Yes."

Now they were getting somewhere. "What are you hungry for?"

Alec's frown grew deeper. James wondered if he should suggest something. Give him something to cling to.

"Toast," Alec said suddenly.

Why the hell hadn't he bought a toaster? It had seemed like a pointless luxury before. Maybe he could build a fire?

"It's all right," Alec said. "I don't need -- "

"Shh." He stroked Alec's hair, then rubbed his thumb against his cheek. "You asked for toast, and toast you shall receive. I was just working out the logistics."

Alec closed his eyes. "All right."

"I'm going to go into the next room and get the bread and the butter. I'll be right back."

He hurried to the refrigerator and back, afraid that any interruption would give Alec the chance to slip away again. When he got back, he leaned back over Alec, brushed fingertips lightly against his lips. "Are you still with me?"

"Yes."

That didn't sound good. "Alec, come on. Talk to me. _Please!_"

"I'm _tired_." Alec twisted his fingers into the blanket. "Wake me when th'food's ready."

James hesitated. He didn't want to lose Alec -- but if he pushed too hard, he might drive him away. "All right," he whispered.

He worked quickly, buttering the slices of toast and then putting them in the skillet to heat. When one side was toasted, he turned the slices over and browned the other side. He cut both slices into triangles, and brought them back to Alec. "I know it's not exactly what you had in mind -- "

Alec opened his eyes. "Close enough," he said, in a faint voice. "I'm hungry."

"Open up, then."

He fed Alec three triangles of toast, before he held up his hand. "Thirsty," he said. "I'm sorry -- "

"No, no, it's all right." He retrieved the cup, and fed Alec a couple of ice chips. "Better?"

"Yes." His voice already sounded stronger. "Still hungry, though." He hooked his fingers over the edge of the cup, to hold it steady. "Is there more toast?"

"Yes."

He fed Alec the rest of the toast; stopping every few pieces to feed him more ice. "Do you want anything else?"

"No." His eyes were drifting closed again. "Later. Maybe … maybe I could have some … " His voice trailed off into a yawn. His breathing slowed and deepened, and he began to snore.

James stood, watching Alec sleep. As an afterthought, he reached out, to take the cup of ice before it could spill and wake him. But when he tugged at it, Alec mumbled, and tightened his fingers on the rim. James released the cup. "Anything you want," he said. "I'll give you anything you want, if you'll just stay with me."

And in his sleep, Alec smiled.


	17. New Regime

James flipped through the book he was reading -- a caper by an American novelist -- without paying it much attention.

He was still edgy. Alec had been awake, yes -- but deep down, he was afraid that it was a fluke, a one-off. That Alec wouldn't wake up again. That the brief half-hour was all he would get.

Nearly ten hours had passed. Shouldn't he have woken by now?

How much sleep did he need?

He set the book aside, and went to Alec's side. Stroked his hair back from his face. Alec stirred, and opened his eyes.

"How are you?"

"Hurts," he said. He pushed against the rail. "Thirsty."

"All right. I'll get you some ice." He got a clean cup and went to the freezer. Then he brought it back and slipped it into Alec's hand. "Do you want me to -- "

"Please."

James plucked out a chip of ice, and slipped it between Alec's lips. Let his fingers linger there. Felt the lips curl into a smile. "More?"

"Yes."

He fed Alec another chip of ice. "I've been thinking about how to deal with the aspirin. I could crush it, mix it in with one of the energy gels."

"Well, it could hardly make it taste _worse_."

"I know you don't like them, Alec, but-- "

"I know. They're good for me." He made a face. "First the energy gel, then some bacon."

"All right." He was glad Alec had decided to be reasonable. He turned on the skillet and laid four strips of bacon inside. Then he crushed the aspirin and poured it into the packet for the energy gel. He squeezed it into Alec's mouth.

"I was wrong," Alec said. "It _does_ taste worse."

"Do you want a fresh one?"

"No. Just get it over with."

James squeezed the rest of the gel into Alec's mouth, and fed him a chip of ice to wash it down. "The next time I go for supplies, I'll get you the chewable kind."

"Please." Alec closed his eyes. "Don't let the bacon burn."

James flipped the bacon, and turned back to Alec. "There. It should be ready in a few minutes."

"Good. Maybe -- "

James took Alec's hand between both of his. "Tell me."

"No. It's not -- it's silly."

"Come on, Alec." He kissed Alec's fingers. "Tell me."

"The bacon's about to burn."

"Lucky for you." He flipped the bacon again. For the next few minutes, he was too busy cooking to question Alec. He blotted the bacon, and brought one strip to Alec. But he pulled it away at the last second. "Tell me," he said.

Alec made a weak grab for the bacon, but James pulled it out of range. "Come on. Tell me."

"Please. James." He closed his eyes.

James felt fear twist in his gut. "Alec -- listen. Have the bacon. I was just -- "

Alec opened his eyes. For a moment, he gazed past James, but then his eyes drifted into focus. James let himself breathe again.

He fed Alec the bacon, and then more ice. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

"No."

"Anything I can do?"

"I would _kill_ for a shower."

Was this what the fuss had been about? It didn't seem silly at all. Just … "I've been trying to figure out how, with no luck. If you can come up with a way, I'll be happy to do the heavy lifting."

"I'll let you know." He closed his eyes.

"Alec -- I'm sorry."

"It's all right." He yawned. "Maybe later you could give me a sponge bath. And -- "

"What?"

"Read to me?"

He blinked, surprised. "What?"

"I like listening to your voice. And -- I'm not tired enough to sleep, but too tired to hold up my end of a conversation. I'm sorry -- "

"Don't be sorry." He kissed Alec on the forehead, and went to pick up the Hiaasen novel from the table. He flipped it back to the beginning, and began to read.

He kept reading, until Alec fell asleep.


	18. Close Shave

He woke for the sixth time -- he doubted it had been six days; it might have been as little as two, but he had no way to tell -- and lay still. Gathered his thoughts, planned his next move.

He could hear James moving around. Pacing, he wondered, or cleaning? He listened, and could hear the soft swish of a broom. Cleaning, definitely.

James being domestic. He smiled at the image.

James must have seen him smile, because the next thing Alec knew, he was at his side. "Good dreams?" he asked.

"No. Just imagining you in a frilly little maid's outfit."

"Not my kink, I'm afraid."

"Nor mine." Alec opened his eyes. "You must admit, though, the image is not without a certain amusement value."

"Yes." James smiled. "And what shall we dress _you_ up as?"

"I -- " Was this a trick, a test? Or an opportunity? He scratched at his beard. "A wild man, maybe. I've got the whiskers for it. Mostly." He'd tried to grow a beard, a few years after Arkangel, to conceal the scars. But it had grown in patchy; the grafted skin didn't grow any hair at all, and the areas that did have hair were twisted. It had only served to draw more attention to the burns; he'd shaved it off.

"Do you want a shave?" James asked.

"Please, God, yes!" He didn't even pretend to hide his eagerness.

James kissed him on the forehead. "All right. I'll be right back."

He heard James's footsteps retreat, and listened eagerly for their return. When James came back, he had an armful of things, including a plastic basin and several towels. Alec tried to watch as he set up, but it was out of his line of vision.

James covered him to his chin with a sheet, and tucked it in around him. Then he began to clip the beard short, with small scissors. The scissors made small chips of sound as the coarse hairs were clipped short.

Next, James brought over a tub of shaving lotion. He used a brush to whip up a froth, and swirled it across Alec's face. It smelled of limes -- freshly-cut limes. Alec felt his mouth start to water. He swallowed hard.

"Are you all right?" James asked.

"Fine." Even to his own ears, his voice sounded strained. James looked at him for a long moment, before he continued to apply the delicious-smelling foam. Alec had to fight the temptation not to take a taste.

James turned, setting the brush aside, and picked up something silvery, about a handspan long. He flipped it open, to reveal a straight razor.

"I hope you have steady hands," Alec said, only half-joking.

"Of course. Trust me?"

How could he answer that?

James didn't wait for a reply. Instead, he moved the blade of the razor to Alec's cheek. He swept it down in one smooth stroke, wiped the blade off, and reversed it, sweeping back up over the same territory.

Then he ran a thumb over the naked patch of skin. It was so sensitized, it was like a direct line right down to his cock. Alec felt himself growing hard. He ran the tip of his tongue over his lower lip. Tasted the soapy tang of the shaving lotion.

The deadly silver skimmed his face again. Once, twice, and then the warm kiss of flesh on flesh.

Over and over, the dance continued. Steel-steel-flesh, steel-steel-flesh. Cheek, upper lip, chin. Every touch made his nerves sing, blade or thumb, it didn't even matter, and James was playing his nerves like a violin without even trying. He felt his erection scraping against the inside of the cast. It should have been painful, but he found himself trying to arch his hips up against it. To no avail; he was braced too securely.

"Stop squirming," James said, without breaking his rhythm.

Then he moved on, to the badly-scarred right cheek.

Now, the dance became intricate. Small, delicate cuts, measured in millimeters. He opened his eyes to see the James frowning in concentration, his lips slightly parted. His eyes intent.

For a moment, he thought -- hoped -- James would kiss him. But James just kept on with what he was doing, his hands steady, his focus absolute.

"Close your eyes," James whispered. "You're distracting me."

He obeyed. Let his other senses take over; he felt the cool of the blade and the warmth of the skin. Smelled the limes, almost tasted them, beyond the soapy taste of the foam. Heard his breath, James's breath, synchronized like they were making love.

The razor moved down, across the line of his jaw, and down onto his neck. Alec flinched when James put his free hand on his collarbone, to gently stretch the skin, as he continued the careful work.

James finished with the scarred, disrupted flesh, and moved the razor, pressed it against the other side of his throat for just a moment. Alec felt his breath catch; he imagined James pressing the blade in, letting his blood flow.

The moment passed. James went back to work, clearing the last of the hair from Alec's throat. Then he wiped the last of the shaving foam away, and then laid another towel, warm and damp, across his face.

He was grateful for the chance to rest. Catch his breath. Slow his breathing.

Let his erection subside.

He'd just started to slide into sleep, when James pulled the towel away, and started to smooth on aftershave. It stung, but only a bit -- enough to wake him up.

"Better?" James asked.

"Yes." He ran his hand over his face, and found it smooth. "Thank you."

"Of course." James leaned over him, and smoothed on even more aftershave. Unnecessary, but Alec wasn't going to complain, as the fingers trailed across his lips and traced his jawline. "You'd do the same for me."


	19. Worse Than Death

James walked to the refrigerator to get more ice, whistling as he went. Alec was back -- Alec was better. He'd been cautiously optimistic before, but over the past few days, he'd become sure.

The day before had settled it. He'd seen the look in Alec eyes while he was shaving him. Lust. Need. He was willing to bet he'd been hard under the cast.

Interest in sex was a _very_ good sign. Not that he could do anything about it; not without risking hurting Alec. And besides, he hadn't wanted to embarrass him by saying anything.

He scooped out the cup of ice and went back into the room. And found Alec breathing heavily, in some kind of distress.

He hurried to his side. Only to find him holding his hand six inches above the mattress. His eyes were narrowed, his breath tight with concentration.

"What are you doing?" James asked, puzzled and a bit worried.

"Exercising. Tired of this." Alec let his hand drop back to the bed. "I can't even hold my own hand up for two bloody minutes. It's pathetic."

"Alec, shh. You just need to be patient -- " That, he realized immediately, was the wrong thing to say.

"For how long. Weeks? Months?" He glared up at the ceiling, as if it had personally offended him. "Is this what I have to look forward to?"

"You've had to do rehab before."

"For an arm or a leg. Not for ... everything."

"But you _have_ done it. It'll take a little longer, but you _will_ get better." He touched Alec's cheek. "And it won't even be _that_ much longer, if you rehab everything at once."

"Right." He still didn't sound convinced. "And what if it doesn't work? What if _nothing_ works?"

"What do you mean?"

"What if -- what if it was too much? Too much broken, too much damaged?" His voice cracked. "James, what if I end up a cripple? Or worse?"

"You're not -- Alec, don't -- " _Don't be silly,_ he'd been about to say, but stopped himself just in time. "Don't worry. The doctor said you'd be fine."

"And what is the doctor's definition of 'fine'?" he demanded. "Survival? A wheelchair?" He jerked his good hand in a sharp, angry arc. "What if this all I have to look forward to -- a bed, and a view of the ceiling!"

"No, Alec, she said you would recover. That you would walk again. There was no damage to the spinal cord, the bones are healing well."

"That's exactly what you'd say if -- if I -- " He pressed his lips together for a moment before speaking. "If I was going to be crippled for life."

"Alec, no." He put one hand on Alec's cheek, the other on his chest. "Alec, I swear to you -- "

"What the hell's the point?" Alec asked. He squeezed his eyes shut. "Death would be better -- you might as well have just let that antenna fall on me."

"Alec -- please. Listen to me." He couldn't lose him again. Not now. Not after he'd had him back. He couldn't bear it --

Inspiration hit. "If you won't listen to me -- will you listen to the doctor? She can take x-rays, she'll _show_ you how well you're healing."

"All right," Alec said, sounding resigned.

"I'll be back in -- " he looked at the watch. It was two; plenty of time to catch her at her clinic.

But then he looked at the digital alarm clock; it was two in the _morning_. "I'll be back in a few hours, all right? I'll have to kick her out of bed."

"You don't have to," Alec mumbled. "It doesn't matter -- "

"Yes. It does. Alec, please don't go away again." He turned back for a moment, pulled Alec's hand against his chest. "I couldn't bear it."

"I'll be here." The corner of his mouth twisted in a parody of a smile. "Where would I go?"

James felt nausea twist his stomach. He didn't want to leave Alec -- but if he didn't get the doctor, if he didn't make Alec believe that he _was_ going to walk again, he might lose him anyway; forever, this time. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"All right." He winced. "But don't forget to get chewable aspirin while you're there."

"Don't worry. I'm sure the doctor has some." If not -- well, he'd figure something out. Even if he had to break into the chemist's shop.

He'd do anything, to keep Alec happy -- to keep Alec with him.

He snatched the keys from the table, scrambled up the ladder, and picked his way across the rubble to the car. Even with the uneven footing, he was nearly at a run by the time he reached it.


	20. Intelligence and Alliances

Alec heard the faint sound of something mechanical outside his room and shut his eyes, the better to let James worry. If he listened hard enough, he could hear footsteps. Two pairs: one long, steady -- James. The other was faster; a shorter stride, struggling to keep up without running.

The doctor?

He kept his face carefully composed; an ill-timed smirk could ruin the whole charade. But really, he hadn't expected James to waltz himself down the primrose path _quite_ so eagerly.

He felt a bit of remorse for what he was doing; playing on James's emotions. But, he reminded himself, it wouldn't have been necessary if James hadn't decided to play mind games.

The footsteps came around the corner and across the floor. He caught a whiff of aftershave as James bent over him. "Alec -- " Voice sharp with worry.

He let the worry build for a moment before twitching his eyelids.

"Come on, Alec, wake up. The doctor is here to see you."

He opened his eyes, let them focus on James. Saw the almost-imperceptible sigh of relief. Then cut his gaze to the side, for his first view of the doctor.

For once, James hadn't brought home a beauty. Not that she was homely; if she'd bothered to do something with her long, black hair instead of just braiding it; if she'd dressed to enhance her curves instead of throwing on the first thing that came to hand when James dragged her out of bed. Not his type, not James's -- but there were plenty of men out there who liked their women a little softer.

Still, it wasn't too hard to imagine her, bending over him, hair loose, falling like a cape, a veil. Running his hands through it, twisting it around his fingers.

He let his gaze drift back to her face. She met his eyes. "Mr. Jones. I'm glad to see you back among the living."

He smiled faintly at her, before turning his attention back to James. "M'thirsty," he murmured.

"I'll get you some ice."

"Thank you."

As soon as James left, Alec turned his attention back to the doctor. Made eye contact. Gave her a real smile this time. "I'm sorry -- I didn't mean for you to get dragged out of bed at -- whatever hour of the night this is."

"I'm a doctor. I'm used to it." She returned the smile, a bit tentatively. "Your ... friend ... sounded quite worried about you."

"I've always been a very ... physical ... man, Doctor." He imagined her dressed in her white doctor's coat, in black lace, in nothing at all. In black velvet, an evening gown, hiked up to her hips as she rode him. Yes ... he could work with that.

He met her eyes again, held her gaze until a trace of red crept into her cheeks. But before he could pursue that line of conversation, he heard James's footsteps, returning. He closed his eyes. "Life as a cripple has no appeal."

"But there is no reason, _none_, for you to be a cripple."

"That is exactly what he would tell you to say."

"I don't lie to my patients."

He opened his eyes. "You've never softened a hard truth? Given someone hope?"

This time, he would be willing to wager, her blush was from embarrassment.

"She can show you." James came to his side, stepping around the doctor, cup of ice in his hand. "I had her bring the x-ray machine from her clinic."

"Good," he whispered, keeping his voice soft, uninterested. Worry flared in James's eyes. He raised a hand, as if he was going to touch him, touch his cheek -- but then checked the motion.

So he was concealing the nature of their relationship. _Interesting._

"Ice?" James asked, voice odd with false cheer.

"Please."

James nodded jerkily, scooped out a chip of ice, and fed it to him. Used the gesture as cover to stroke his cheek.

It was just like all those years ago. Covert touches, even the most casual of contact carrying hidden meaning. _Oh, yes. Just like that._ It was hard to concentrate, with the warmth of James's fingers soaking into his cheek. _Just. Like. That._

He dug his fingernails into the palm of his hand. Tried to use the pain as a focus, but he couldn't even clench his fingers hard enough.

James's fault, he reminded himself. Tried to summon up even a bit of anger, to use as a focus.

It didn't work, but the effort at least took his mind off the warmth of James's hand. "Take the damn x-rays," he said, voice pitched low so that the doctor would have to strain to hear, assume that the words were not meant for her. "Let's bring this charade to an end."

"No charade." James fished out another chip of ice, fed it to him. Drew a gentle thumb across his lips. "You'll see." He turned away, back to the doctor. "Is there anything else you need?"

She set aside the file she had been marking. "Nothing. Can you bring the apparatus, please?"

James nodded, and hurried out of the room. Came back a moment later, pushing a large yellow machine -- from his angle, he couldn't make out any details. The doctor put a heavy lead apron over his chest -- and her hand darted in to push something into his.

Interesting.

The doctor moved around him, nudging the x-ray film under his legs, moving him with James's help. To his surprise, she tucked one under his neck, too. When she was finally done, she turned to James. "Mr. Smith -- if I could have your help?"

"Alec, will you be -- "

"I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"James. You've dragged this poor woman out of bed, the least you can do is help her."

James nodded, and gestured for the woman to go first. As soon as the two had left, Alec opened his hand.

It was a note, written on a small scrap of paper and wrapped around a short stub of pencil. It consisted of two questions.

_Are you a prisoner?_

Do you need me to call the authorities?

He wrote no by both questions, and underlined the second.

He wished he knew how long he had, before James came back. He had to guess he didn't have much time.

He laid the paper against his chest and scrawled _Where am I? How long have I been here?_

Then, carefully, he folded the note back up and wrapped it around the pencil, and concealed it in his hand.

As it turned out, he needn't have hurried. The minutes crawled by as he waited for James and the doctor to return. He reverted to that old standby, counting seconds.

One thousand, nine hundred and forty-three seconds later, the two of them returned, the doctor carrying an armful of x-ray film.

"A light box would make this easier," she said. "But the lamp will work."

She pulled out his file again, and another stack of x-rays. Shuffled through them, and then dragged out one. Frowned at it thoughtfully, and then smiled. "This should make things easier."

"What?"

"Cervical vertebrae. She held one over his head. "There was a fracture there, and there. Now." She pulled out the one she had been looking at before, "However, as you can see, new bone growth has filled in the fracture. Meaning, of course, that the neck brace can come off and you can look at the rest of these without my holding them over your head."

Meaning that he was healing. Finally, actually healing. He felt a rush of relief. Somehow, despite all his intellectualizing, a part of him -- a fairly _large_ part, he was surprised to discover -- had believed this would go on forever.

And then James murmured "allow me" and leaned in close, undid the straps, and gently slid the collar up and away.

Experimentally, Alec tried to raise his head. He was not particularly surprised to find that he could not; more atrophy. Instead, he rolled his head to the side -- freedom that had been denied him for so long -- and studied James.

He'd lost weight. His normally well-tailored clothes hung on him. Not a lot, someone who didn't know him as well might not even notice, but Alec did.

_Oh, James ... _

"Could you get the lamp, please?"

The moment James's back was turned, the doctor snatched the note from his hand. She curled her fingers around it just in time, dropping her hand just in time. With her free hand, she picked up the file once more.

"A light box would be helpful," she said, "But traffic can be vile at this time of day; it would probably be at least a four hour round trip."

So under ideal conditions he was an hour from wherever her clinic was. Not a particularly helpful piece of data, on its own.

But she was trying. He caught her gaze, and smiled. She blushed and fumbled, dropping her gaze. James caught the x-ray before it could tumble to the ground.

"This one -- this is the original x-ray of your right femur. You can see the fractures there, and there."

"Right. I remember." Not the specifics, of course; his whole body had been one undifferentiated mass of pain. He felt the ghost of it brush along his bones. "Can we -- can you show me the next one?"

She nodded. "This is the x-ray of the same bone, taken after surgery. I aligned the bone and inserted pins to hold it stable. And this one is the x-ray I took today. New bone is still growing in; you're exactly where you should be at three months post-trauma."

_Three months._

"And the rest of the bones?" he asked. "You don't have to show me the 'before' pictures; I can remember well enough."

When she looked at him again, there was sympathy in her eyes. "Of course." She quickly showed him the rest of the x-rays.

When she was finished, he looked at her. "So I'll be back to normal."

She looked at him for a long moment, before shaking her head. "Trauma on this scale -- there will always be some effects."

He kept his voice neutral. He needed to know. "What can I expect, then? Numerically speaking, with a hundred percent being where I was before I -- before the injuries."

"Numerically speaking? Anywhere between eighty and ninety-five percent. A lot of which depends on you; it is absolutely _vital_ that you are diligent in your physical therapy."

"Just tell me what to do."

"I've brought a listing of exercises." She looked up at James. "They're in my bag. If you don't mind -- "

"Right," James said, and headed out the door.

"Thank you," Alec said. He rapped at the cast. "So when do I get out of this thing?"

"Another month, more or less."

"The sooner the better." He grinned at her. "I can't wait to get out and get some _real_ food."

"Around here?" She gave him a mischevious grin. "When you're well enough to travel, there is this little place on Brick Lane that makes absolutely wonderful chicken tikka masala, like my grandmother used to make. I eat there once a week, at least."

Brick Lane. East End. London, then.

He doubted she'd be quite so friendly if she knew what he'd planned for the city. Well, what she didn't know couldn't hurt him.

"You'll have to take me, sometime."

"They're not here." James strode back into the door. Picked up the bag that sat on the card table. "Oh, look. Here they are." He set them down with a slap of paper.

The doctor shrank back. "Is there a problem -- "

"No. Of course not." He shoved the x-ray sheets into the file, and shoved it onto a shelf. Then he began tossing her things into the bag.

Alec studied James's face. His expression was carefully neutral, but his eyes were burning with fury.

"Wait outside," he told the doctor.

Not good. If James was alone with the doctor in this mood there was no telling what could happen. What he might convince himself was necessary.

He couldn't lose his one ally. He had to do something. Had to convince James -- "You had a three month head start," he said, keeping his tone carefully light. "If you haven't managed to close the deal, it's certainly not _my_ fault."

James gaped at him. "_What -- _."

"Come on, James." He smirked. "You know the rules -- to the victor go the spoils."

"The good doctor? She's hardly your type."

"Oh, don't pout. I promise to share."

James's eyes were still intense, but no longer angry. He bent down close, to whisper in his ear. "I don't think I feel like sharing you with anyone."

He was gone before Alec could formulate a reply.


	21. Driving ...

After he left the Doctor at her clinic, James stopped to pick up some supplies. Then he began the long drive back to his hideout.

A long drive alone with his thoughts. Lovely. He switched on the radio, tried to find something he could sink into and drown them out, but found nothing.

He began to curse under his breath. "Damn it all to hell. Damn the doctor. Damn Alec, damn him most of all, he should know better than to play that kind of game with me!"

Except it was the same game that they'd always played. They'd always been competitive -- they'd always kept score.

He just hadn't expected the doctor to be stakes worth playing for.

Unless ... Alec was playing for higher stakes than he'd thought.

Suddenly, it seemed all too possible; Alec had been faking it all, the fear, the despair, plotting the whole time to bring the doctor out here so that he could --

\-- could what? Seduce her? James let out a shaky laugh. That was a bit far-fetched, he'd never seen her, didn't even know that she was a _she_; it was the first time he'd been awake for one of her visits. Alec seducing a man was far from out of the question -- James knew that much from personal experience. But as far as he knew, he was the only man that Alec had ever been with -- the only man that Alec had ever _wanted_ to be with.

Though his mind obligingly conjured up the image of Alec with another man. That idiot computer nerd, he'd seemed obliging enough. Or Ourumov -- since they'd been conspiring together, who knew what else they'd shared.

The image returned to him; Alec kneeling in front of Ourumov. But this time, it was different; Ourumov's fingers tangling in Alec's dirty-blond hair, tipping his head back to --

The loud honk of a horn behind him jerked him back to the present. He'd slammed on the brakes, he realized; he was holding up traffic.

He was clenching his jaw so hard his teeth ached. He took a deep breath, let it out, and eased his foot off the brake. "Ridiculous," he told himself, as he hit the gas; "Alec has better taste."

All right, he admitted -- Alec faking the whole thing for the purpose of seducing the doctor _was_ rather far-fetched. More likely, he had just taken advantage of the situation; decided to tweak James just because -- because he could, because he always had, because that was the way the game was played.

Still, the rules were different now, and he couldn't let Alec think he could go back to the old games. He hadn't rescued Alec, nursed him back to health, just so he could watch him try to seduce the first woman that came along.

Something would have to be done. He wasn't sure what -- but he had the whole drive back to figure out a suitable penalty.


	22. Unspoken

Alec had been dozing, but when the door opened, he woke immediately. He looked over -- what a luxury it was to be able to turn his head -- to see James strut in, looking immensely self-satisfied.

What, Alec wondered, had he done? In his most casual voice, he asked, "How was traffic?"

"Fine." James grinned. "Aren't you going to ask me where I was all this time?"

"I was sleeping."

"The doctor gave me something for you." He held up a bottle. "It's a mild painkiller, not much stronger than aspirin, but it's liquid; it'll be easier for you to swallow."

"That's good."

With studied casualness, James poured the medicine into the hollow tube of the measuring spoon. Then he put his arm under Alec's head and lifted him so he could swallow. Just a few inches -- his spine was still braced -- but it was a change. Alec saw the full, white expanse of the casts, instead of just the tips of his toes. Not much more information; the walls were brick, painted white.

And then the scent hit him; the distinctive smell of sex. Of a woman.

No wonder James had looked so self-satisfied.

Though if James smelled of sex, it was probably a good thing. While it was true that James had killed women he'd slept with, he usually didn't set out to do it deliberately. So if he'd slept with the good Doctor, it probably meant she was alive and well.

Probably.

No matter how jealous it might make him feel.

A memory hit him, then; of James after he'd had a woman. Coming back with that smell on him. Alec had felt angry, betrayed -- and desperate for a taste of what he'd missed. He'd dropped to his knees, pulling James's slacks down around his ankles. Sucked until all the foreign taste was gone, and James was hard again.

Then he'd shoved James down -- face-down on the sofa -- and fucked him. Fucked him hard, to brand him, claim him, drive out the memory of the other woman. Fucked him out of rage, out of jealousy. Fucked him for all the things he couldn't say.

He moaned at the memory, and the James of the present stroked his hair back from his face. "Are you all right?"

"Yes." If he reached out, he could get his hand on James's belt. Fumble it open one-handed, undo his fly, pull his cock out over the top of his briefs. Take the head into his mouth, suck the half-dried stickiness from his skin ...

He was just reaching out, when James stepped back, turned away. "I need a shower."

Me too," Alec murmured, into the vacuum James left behind.


	23. Next to Godliness

James stepped out of the shower and toweled himself off. He was glad to be clean -- glad to be free of the juices of the woman -- Julia, or whatever her name was. It had been easy enough to catch her; she'd been giving him the eye the last few times he'd been to the village to get supplies. Now, he suspected, he'd have to find a different place to shop.

But it had been worth it to see the jealousy in Alec's eyes.

Now, though, it was time to switch tactics. He pulled on a clean pair of trousers, picked up a few towels, and walked back to Alec's room. Just inside the door, he picked up the bag of things he'd gotten in the village.

"Back so soon?" Alec asked. He raised an eyebrow at James's state of relative undress, but made no comment.

"I just needed a quick shower. And I remembered that you wanted to get cleaned up, too." He saw Alec's eyes light up. "It won't be a full shower, but -- "

"Anything." Alec's eyes were avid, like a junkie desperate for his next fix.

"Then let's waste no more time." He pulled out a shallow basin and lifted Alec's head so he could slide it underneath. Then he ran a pitcher of warm water, and poured it gently over his hair. He squeezed shampoo onto the palm of his hand, and began to massage it in.

After so many months without being washed, Alec's hair was thick with grease. It took four applications to get it clean; massaging it in slowly and then rinsing it out, cupping a hand carefully over his forehead to keep the soap from going into his eyes. By the second application, Alec had closed his eyes, relaxed into the touch.

James gave his hair a final rinse and then asked, "Better?"

"Much." Alec opened his eyes. "That doesn't mean you should stop."

"But then I wouldn't be able to get the rest of you." He leaned in close and raised Alec's head again -- pulled Alec's head close to his chest, so he could feel his warm breath on his bare skin. With his free hand, he reached for the plastic basin -- but before he could get a grip on the basin to set it aside, he felt Alec's hand on his arm. He fumbled the basin; it tilted and tumbled to the ground, splashing water on James's bare feet.

"Sorry," Alec murmured, and slid his hand up to James's shoulder. James looked down -- and saw that Alec didn't look sorry at all.

"Don't worry," James said, and picked up a washcloth. He dunked it in the pitcher, tilted Alec's head forward, and wiped down the back of his neck.

"Can't even raise my head," Alec murmured.

James slid his hand forward, to cup Alec's jawbone, and tilted his head back. Then, gently, washed his face and the front of his neck. He continued to hold Alec with one arm, while he slid the washcloth lower with the other.

"Please," Alec whispered.

"Patience." Deliberately casual, he slid the wet washcloth over Alec's nipple until he felt it harden, heard Alec gasp. Then he moved on, circling the washcloth lower. Alec's breath grew ragged, as he drew the washcloth along the top of the cast.

From here, there was only one place left to go. He knew it, Alec knew it -- and he could only imagine what was going through Alec's mind; desire, embarrassment ...

The better to let him think about it, James drew the washcloth back up. He fumbled for a towel and rubbed Alec's hair dry, and then took another one to put his head down on. He turned away, and let Alec's hand slide off his arm, nails scraping slightly as he grasped futilely for purchase.

"I ought to give you a manicure. Or maybe a pedicure. Paint your toenails. Maybe red ... ?" He picked up the washcloth again, and trailed it down to Alec's waist. Reached out to touch the cast, lay his hand over where an erection was almost certainly growing.

Alec moaned.

"Are you all right?" James asked. He could see anticipation and humiliation warring in Alec's eyes. He rested his hand on the cast for a little longer, drawing out the moment. He wanted Alec to beg for it. Alec bit his lip -- but said nothing.

"You look cold," James said. "Let's finish this later."

"Please ... " Alec whispered, in what might have been protest or assent. James chose to act as if were the latter; he picked up the blanket and draped it over Alec. He tucked the blanket in, and stood stroking Alec's damp hair until he fell asleep.


	24. Mourning Victory, Celebrating Defeat

Once, he had held the fate of millions in his hands. Now, though, Alec measured his triumphs in smaller increments. Getting through a sponge-bath without getting hard. Keeping himself under control, no matter how much James was driving him to distraction. Not letting James see what he was doing to him with every touch ...

Today, though, his challenge was a purely physical one. James had lifted his head away from the pillow. His job was to keep his head up when James took his hand away.

"Ready?"

Alec took a deep breath. "Ready."

And then the warmth of the supporting hand was gone. Immediately, the weight began to tell on him. He tucked his chin against his chest, and concentrated on keeping his atrophied muscles tensed, while James counted slowly to ten.

By seven, his muscles were trembling, but he managed to make it to the whole count before he dropped his head back to the pillow. _Triumph._

"Good," James murmured.

"In a few days," he said, "I might even be able to hold my head up for a whole minute. Or even raise it under my own power."

"Don't be sarcastic, Alec."

"Why not? I have so few pleasures ..." He held James's gaze when he said that, a moment longer than he'd intended.

Long enough to see James's eyes widen, to see him take a deeper-than-normal breath.

_Direct hit._

That was not, however, an unmixed blessing. Because James might decide to up his game. And Alec didn't know how much longer he could hold out.

Suddenly, he was so very _tired_ of all of this. He closed his eyes, and settled deeper into the pillow. He wanted to be better again, so he could --

Could _what_?

The thought jolted him; he jerked his eyes open. He'd been concentrating so hard on the mechanics of his recovery that he hadn't given any thought to what happened after.

He could kill James. He knew it. Not now, but in a month or so, when he'd built his strength back up. Take him by surprise, slide an arm around his neck, snap it in one motion.

He'd never expect it.

But did he _want_ to? He knew he _should_ want to, for a thousand different reasons. Reasons he'd willfully forgotten, reasons he'd pushed out of his head because to think about them would drive him mad.

Now, though ...

He couldn't think. Didn't dare think. If he did, he'd shatter, he'd fly apart at the seams.

All he had left was James. James had always been his shelter, his salvation, the one safe place in the universe. When their bodies were locked together, everything -- the violence of their missions, the murder-suicide of his parents, his planned betrayal of England and the lurking feeling that he was betraying his parents just by being alive -- was burned away in the heat between them. James had been enough. What they'd had -- not love, they'd never called it love -- had been enough.

Until it wasn't, anymore.

"Please," he whispered. "James, please, hold me, touch me, like you used to."

James looked at him for a long moment, and he was afraid that he would deny him the comfort that he most needed. He was about to ask again, was about to _beg_ when James leaned in and kissed him, very lightly, on the lips.

_Oh._

Then James opened his mouth, and Alec slid the tip of his tongue inside. _Like coming home._ He let out a soft groan into that welcoming mouth.

Instantly, James pulled back. "Are you all right?"

"Harder."

James studied him for a long moment, and then kissed him again, almost as gently, and then harder, and then bruisingly hard. One hand slid under his head, fingers tangled in his hair.

Oh God, he had no control, no control over _any_ of it, except what James allowed him. He felt himself growing hard.

James pulled back again, but Alec knew this part of the dance. Anticipation, drawn out like strands of molten glass.

Alec slid his hand along until he found James's belt buckle. Fumbled with it. "Don't," James whispered. "I want this to be all about you."

"This _is_ about me." But he left the belt alone, brushed his fingers lower. Found James hard. Heard him moan.

And then James grabbed his wrist, pinned it against the bed. Reached in again as if to kiss him, but then nipped his lower lip.

Alec closed his eyes, let himself relax into the touch. James kissed him again on the mouth, and then began to work his way down; chin, neck, then sideways, blazing a trail across his collarbone. Then down again, to just above his nipple.

Then he stopped, raised his head.

"James ... " Alec was surprised he could even form the name. He curled his pinned hand into the sheets, and managed "Please!"

Hot breath on his nipple. And then, an opened mouth coming down to encircle it, still without touching. Finally, finally, the tongue, circling inward, bringing hot wet heat, and oh god he was going to --

Teeth closed, gently, on his nipple, wringing a cry from him.

God -- how had he lived for nine years, without this?

But James was in motion again, mouth moving inexorably down across chest and belly, hand leaving his hair to trail down across his shoulder, grazing the nipple on the way. Oh God, oh God ...

He felt James's mouth come up against the cast. Alec moaned in frustration as James raised his head.

And then his hand was free -- for what little it was worth. He felt James lean away, though he didn't leave completely; his fingers trailed down to rest against his belly.

"Close your eyes," James said. "Do you remember that time in the Balkans -- we'd been up all night, we were cold, uncomfortable, and in the middle all of that, you told me 'don't make a sound' and put your hand down my pants."

"How could I forget?" How had he forgotten?

Hot fingers, slicked with still-cool lotion, wrapped around his cock. He sucked in a breath.

James backed away. "Alec, are you ... "

"Don't stop," he begged.

"No ... I suppose that would be unconscionably cruel."

"Please ... "

And then the fingers were back. The lotion had had time to warm up; there was no shock this time, just pleasure. And then, James began to stroke, slow and deliberate and he never wanted it to end.

He bit his lip and concentrated on his breathing. Fought the urge to let go.

"God, Alec, I want you." James's voice was thick with lust. "Soon as you're better, Alec, as soon as the casts come off, I'm going to kiss every inch of you, from head to toe, and back again. Going to suck your cock until you're begging for it, then I'm going to --

"Please," Alec whispered. He felt for James's other hand, the one resting on his belly, and twined his fingers with James's. "Please, I want -- " He clutched at the hand, as a rush of heat went through him. His body arched; if it wasn't for the casts, he would have thrashed himself off the bed. "I'm going to -- "

"Come for me, Alec." One hand slipsliding on his cock, the other twisting to twine around his fingers; how could Alec refuse? He cried out, as waves shuddered through him, crashed through him, left him beached and gasping.

And then the hand was gone. Both hands; the one he'd been clutching trailed out from his fingers. He nearly cried out from the loss.

But then he heard the footsteps as James approached his end of the bed. One hand slid under his shoulder, the other came to cup his cheek. He opened his eyes to find James looking down at him, eyes intent. "Hey," he whispered.

Alec managed to get his hand up, traced the line of James's lips. _Thank you,_ he wanted to say, or maybe _I love you_, but neither seemed quite right. Instead, he called on his reserves of strength to raise his head toward James.

And then James slid his hand under his head, lifted him -- at least as far as the brace on his back would allow -- and held him close. Familiar sensations -- the spicy tang of aftershave, the softness of the cotton shirt, the heat of James's body radiating through it -- wrapped around him, soothed him. Alec closed his eyes, let himself be held, as he slipped toward sleep.

It was enough. For now, it was enough.


	25. Out of ...

James strode impatiently down the street of the East End, toward the clinic. He shifted the bag from the bookshop in his hand -- full of paperbacks and a crossword magazine, to keep Alec entertained -- and sidestepped a pair of shoppers. They glared at him but kept moving.

Alec had turned a corner; he was more alert, but also restless and frequently bored. James had forgotten how badly he reacted to the enforced inactivity of convalescence. Last night, he'd kept James up half the night, talking about anything he could think of. Old missions, office gossip, books; both fiction and non, football ... anything to keep from having to lie awake. Keeping Alec amused had become a full-time job, and a surprisingly exhausting one at that.

Alec hadn't been happy about him leaving, either, even for a few hours. James thought it would do him good to have time to think about what his life would be like alone. Let Alec miss him, let him be grateful when he came back.

He'd left his watch with Alec, but he had Alec's watch in his pocket. He'd tell him that the doctor had found it. She'd back him up -- what choice did she have? He'd have to keep an eye on her, though; she'd made her unhappiness more than clear two weeks ago, when he'd dragged her out in the middle of the night.

It was time, he decided, to re-establish control, both of the Doctor and, when he got back, over Alec. He could play themselves off against each other; subtly hint to the doctor that Alec was using her, and then let her do the rest when she got there. _Hell hath no fury ... _

By the time he reached the clinic, he was in a good mood. He walked in -- and found it unusually empty, only a few nurses and patients.

He walked up to the desk. "Can you tell the doctor that Mr. Smith is here to see her?

"I would if she were here," the woman said, shooting him a look of pure loathing. "But she's gone." The receptionist handed him a letter. "She left this for you.

He ripped it open, and read:

_I have taken my brother and left the country; please don't bother trying to find us. I have included an approximate schedule for your friend's recovery; however, I strongly recommend he see a professional physical therapist. You will, I hope, understand my reluctance to give referrals._

He stared at it for a moment, in shock. She'd left them -- she'd run out on them. Run out on _him_.

Feeling suddenly out-of-control, as if the earth had been jerked out from under him, he turned and walked back to where he'd left the car. When he reached it, his control broke. He sat there, shaking with fury, for a long time.


	26. Depths of ...

Alec fought to keep his attention on the book he was reading. It had been funny when James had been reading it, but now, he'd managed to read the same paragraph -- at last count -- eight times.

Though he might have missed counting a time or two.

He wondered if he was going to go insane, waiting for James to get back.

Anywhere between an hour or two of travel time to London. Whatever errands James needed to do before he picked the doctor up at her clinic. Then the return trip; another hour or two. And after the doctor saw him, she'd have to be taken back to London. At this rate, it could be eight or nine _hours_ before he and James were finally alone together. And then James would probably want to sleep ...

There was an idea; he could sleep now. Except he didn't think he could, and even if it did would mean having to lie awake while _James_ slept, and that would leave him right back where he'd started -- alone, with his thoughts.

He returned his attention to the book, for his ninth attempt. This time, he managed to concentrate long enough to make it through to the end of the page. He tried to get one finger under the next page, to turn it-- but his fingers, still weak from atrophy, couldn't hold on well enough. The book slipped from his fingers and began to tumble away. He grabbed for it, but not quickly enough; his outstretched fingers only brushed the pages as the book fell past.

Alec let out a frustrated growl. _Now_ what was he supposed to do? He glanced at the watch again. It hadn't even been an hour since James had left. So it would be two or three hours before he saw him, even for a brief time.

Assuming he wouldn't stop for another tryst with the Doctor. Damn James and his urges -- competitive and otherwise. Damn James for not being here when Alec needed him.

And damn himself for needing James so badly.

He wished he could just stop _thinking_. Wished he could shut the thoughts out of his mind, wished he'd never had the thought that he could kill James. That he should _want to_ kill him, should _hate_ him.

He had wanted to. He knew that. The underlying reasons hadn't changed, in the three and a half months since the _Goldeneye_ affair, or the nine years of separation. James was still James, and if anything, Alec had even more reasons, better reasons, to hate him.

_Three and a half months worth of reasons._

His muscles jerked with the memory of pain. How many times had James stood and watched while he'd screamed in agony? How many times had he made him beg for it to stop? _Say my name_ he'd said, his voice steady even as Alec had been fighting for the last scrap of control, the last shred of dignity.

He should hate him. The fact that he _didn't_ was a testament to James's skill in brainwashing, nothing more. He knew that. But no matter how many times he told himself, he kept remembering ...

James, stroking his hair as the morphine took effect.

James, feeding him ice when thirst tormented him.

James, stroking his cock, fingers twined in his, giving pleasure and asking for nothing in return. Holding him close, keeping him safe, driving away his demons. If he could just hold out until James got back ...

Alec moaned in despair. For the first time, he realized how lost he truly was.


	27. Homecoming

James came through the door to Alec's room, and dropped the bag from the bookshop on the counter. "What did you _say_ to her?"

Then he turned, and got a glimpse at the look on Alec's face. Expression pinched, eyes sunken -- he looked like he'd aged a decade in the past four hours. James felt the last of his fury drain from him. "Alec -- what's wrong?"

"Nothing -- I'm just -- I'm glad you're ho -- I'm glad you're back." His lips rictused back into a hideous parody of a smile.

"Alec, talk to me." He approached cautiously, afraid of making Alec shut down. "Tell me what's wrong. Please."

"I just -- I dropped my book."

James bent down to retrieve it, but instead of handing it over, he set it on the table. Then he bent over Alec and kissed him gently on the lips.

To his surprise, Alec turned his head away. "Don't. Please. Not like that. Not like _this_."

"Then like what?"

"I don't know." James heard something very close to despair in Alec's voice. "Just please, please don't leave me again. Make the doctor spend the night -- tie her up and put her in the closet if you want -- I don't care, but just don't leave me alone again. Please ... "

"I won't, shh, I won't." He slid one arm under Alec's head, drawing him up closer. Held him until the trembling stopped and the tension eased out of him.

_What the hell happened to him?_ He shifted, brought his hand up to rest on Alec's cheek as he backed away, so he could see Alec's face. "Talk to me, Alec."

"I'm all right." Alec opened his eyes, looked around. "Where's the doctor?"

"In the closet?" James teased. But then he sighed, pulled out the letter, and watched Alec as he read it, watching him carefully, trying to see every nuance of expression. Would he be relieved -- or would he see it as more isolation? But Alec's expression was unreadable.

"What did you say to her?" James asked again.

"Say to her?" Alec smirked up at him. "As I recall, you were the last one who ... "   
James blinked, forgetting for just a moment that he was supposed to have slept with the doctor; just a moment's slip, but it was enough. Alec's expression suddenly grew canny. "You didn't, did you?"

"Of course I did -- you can't think I -- "

But Alec was suddenly laughing, so hard he shook. Head tossed back, eyes leaking tears; James had the sudden, horrible thought he'd finally snapped. "Alec, are you -- "

When Alec finally managed to stop laughing long enough to catch his breath, his smirk was back. "What's so funny?" James asked, suddenly irritated.

"You," Alec said. "Trying to make me jealous."

"What of it?"

"If you're trying to make me jealous ... it can only mean that _you_ are getting jealous."

That hit a bit too close to home. James looked away, fighting his anger down. It wouldn't do any good to rail at Alec, wouldn't do any good to try and frighten him. Time to switch tactics -- but to what?

To stall, he pulled Alec's watch out of his pocket. "She left this for you."

Alec smiled, and held out his wrist. "Put it on me?"

James complied, first removing his own watch, then buckling Alec's watch onto his wrist, letting his hand rest longer than necessary, until he could feel Alec's pulse, steady beneath his fingertips. He felt Alec's heart rate speed up, saw him take a deep breath.

"She also said that you could get out of the back brace now, and the casts in another two weeks. Though you'll still need to keep your arm in a sling for another month, to protect your collarbone."

"Out of the brace -- " Alec grinned, and began fumbling at the buckle. He undid the top two, but couldn't quite manage the lower ones, between the angle and the weakness in his fingers. James unbuckled them, and then leaned down to lift Alec out of the brace.

Alec slid his arm up around James's waist and nuzzled his neck. The contact sent a shiver through James, and he felt himself getting hard. He pulled the brace out from under Alec and let it clatter to the floor, then wrapped his arm back around Alec. He dropped his head to kiss Alec on the lips. Found the lips parted, and dipped the tip of his tongue inside.

Alec moaned into his mouth, and arched against him. James felt fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt, pulling it out of the waistband of his slacks, and then he felt Alec's hand on the bare skin of his back, sending shivers through him.

James managed to pull back long enough to gasp "we shouldn't" but that only gave Alec and opportunity to get his hand between them and start to fumble open the buttons that held James's shirt closed.

"Want this," Alec panted. "Want to feel you against me, skin on skin, I've been so cold for so long -- "

James had an idea. "Lie back -- "

"No. _Please._" He clutched at James, but James managed to extricate himself. He pulled off his shirt, which got a smile -- but then he reached under the gurney and lowered it to the ground. Then he pulled his own mattress over beside the gurney, making what was almost a bed, and knelt down. Then he pulled Alec into his arms again. It was still awkward; the cast on Alec's legs came up to his waist, so he couldn't really sit all the way up -- but it was more contact than they'd had.

Alec's arm slid around his waist, then up his back to clutch between his shoulder blades. James kissed Alec, and suddenly, Alec's fingernails were digging into him, a little bit of pain to add to the pleasure of Alec's tongue skittering along the edge of his lower lip. James drew back for only a moment, then kissed Alec again. And again, and again, until they were both breathless.

He drew back for a moment, held Alec at arms' length to catch his breath. Alec smirked at him, and reached out again -- for his belt buckle, this time.

"Don't," James said. "You don't have to -- "

But then Alec managed to get his belt open, and started to work on his fly. James thought for a moment about stopping him, but then it was too late, and Alec's fingers slipped inside, over the top of his briefs, and wrapped around his cock, drawing a moan from him. He held Alec closer.

"Prop me up," Alec whispered.

James ducked away long enough to comply; he put the head portion of the gurney up. He straddled Alec, feet on either side of the unyielding plaster whiteness of the casts, and kissed him again. Felt Alec's fingers wrap around his cock again, stroking him until he was hard. Then Alec got a grip on his briefs, and began to tug him upward.

"What are you -- "

"Want to _taste_ you," Alec moaned. "God, it's been so long -- "

James kissed Alec again, hard enough to press him back into the mattress. Shifted his weight, trying to give Alec more access -- but the mattress was slick plastic and damp with sweat, and his hand slipped down and banged on Alec's collarbone.

Alec yelped in startled pain, and let out a string of curses.

"Alec -- God, I'm so sorry! Here, let me see ... "

"S'not bad," Alec muttered, but James tilted his head away and probed anyway. Ran his thumb along the collarbone, feeling for any sign that it had re-broken. Alec winced, but didn't cry out again.

"It looks all right," James said, though he wished he had the doctor here for a second opinion. Of course, if the doctor was here, it wouldn't have happened. "I don't think I did any damage."

"Unless you count killing the mood," Alec grumbled.

James zipped up his fly and buckled his belt, but then lowered himself back down to lean on the head of the gurney. He slid one arm below Alec's back, and pulled him into the circle of his arms. Alec let out a long breath, and the last of the tension seemed to leave him.

Was this, James wondered, what all that had been about? Getting him close, with sex just the pretext? "If you want to be held," he murmured, "all you have to do is ask."

"And what if I just want sex?" Alec asked; James couldn't tell from his voice if he was teasing James or trying to make light of his own weakness.

"Then I suppose you'll just have to wait for the casts to come off. It'll be safer that way."

"Oh." Alec let out a resigned sigh. "Well, it looks like it's going to be a long two weeks."


	28. An Exercise in Defiance

As soon as Alec heard the shower start, he dumped the book off the side of the gurney and hunched forward, trying to sit up. No dice -- even after four and a half days out of the brace, as measured by the lines he scratched in the plaster of his cast every time both hands of his watch hit twelve-- he was too weak. He got his arm behind him and shoved against the back of the gurney, his hand sinking into the pile of pillows, until he finally managed to get himself upright. But only for a moment -- his arm was shaking under his own weight.

He considered for a moment -- there was the overhang of plaster that connected the casts on his legs, to give him a little privacy. It might hold his weight -- at least he hoped it would, otherwise James would know what he'd been up to. He concentrated, estimating time and distances -- and then swung his hand out from behind him and reached.

He was fast enough; his fingers closed over the thick overhang of plaster, and it held. He flexed the muscles of his arm and pulled and then he was sitting -- almost -- upright.

He looked around. Not much he hadn't seen, but that wasn't the point. No, the point was to be ahead of where James expected him to be, even if it was only by a bit.

It was, he decided, a matter of principle.

His arm was tiring, starting to hurt, but still he clung to the lip of plaster with grim determination.

And for the first time, he contemplated the plaster itself. Wondered at its purpose. He'd thought it was just there to give him a bit of privacy, prevent one more indignity -- but James certainly hadn't worried overmuch about his dignity during the past three and a half months.

It was, however, a very effective barrier to keep his _own_ hands away.

_After all, James wouldn't want me to be able to toss myself off._

Just one more aspect of his life that James had complete and utter control over.

And how, he wondered, was he supposed to feel about that? He didn't know, so he tucked it into the back of his mind to think about later, and concentrated on holding himself up.

And then he heard the shower shut off. He released his grip on the plaster -- he couldn't deny the relief coming from his cramped fingers -- and dropped back onto the bed. Tried to catch his breath before James came back.

And then James walked through the door, his hair still damp -- lucky bastard; Alec couldn't wait until the casts came off so he could take a shower.

James looked at him, eyes narrowed with worry. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. I dropped my book." He managed a chagrined smile. "If you could drag the table over here, I'd have somewhere secure to put it ... "

"Of course." James dragged the table over, then picked the book up and set it where Alec could reach it. "Anything else?"

"Ice, please?"

He hadn't meant to say it -- since he could sit up, he could drink water like a normal human being. But -- he told himself that if James thought he still wanted ice -- still wanted to be _fed_ ice -- it would allay his suspicions.

And, God help him, he did want it. He was tired, he was thirsty -- and most dangerous of all, he wanted the closeness.

God help him.


	29. Past and Prologue

James sat beside Alec, watching him as he dozed off. He'd exhausted himself, and James thought he knew how ... and why.

And that knowledge -- that Alec was not only trying hard to make progress, but trying to hide it from him -- frightened him more than he cared to admit. He'd thought that by now, he wouldn't have to be afraid of what Alec might do. If he'd known that he was still going to have to worry about Alec betraying him --

\-- he had to admit, though, this wasn't exactly planned. He'd been acting on instinct from the moment he'd told Natalya to take the helicopter down instead of flying away. He'd landed on the dish, not knowing what to expect, only knowing that Alec was still alive, somehow, despite the fall -- only knowing that he couldn't simply leave him to his fate.

No matter how much he'd earned it.

He'd dropped from the helicopter and run to Alec, slid his hands down under his shoulders, aware that his neck might be broken, but even more aware of the massive mechanical failure that he'd started when he'd dropped the pole in the gears of the antenna. He'd barely gotten him clear when the whole thing crashed down onto the dish, sending a wave of heat over them. James dropped to his knees, still cradling Alec, who seemed to have passed out, and watched the antenna burn.

After a long moment, Alec's eyes fluttered open. "Did we do it?" he'd asked, his voice harsh with pain. He coughed, bringing up blood. "Did we win?"

"Yes," James had lied, because they had both lost. Except ... if Alec had asked that question, didn't that mean that he was still in there ... that there was still enough left to retrieve?

He turned, toward where the helicopter had settled to the ground; Natalya looked expectantly out of the hatch, the gun still in her hand. How much fuel, he wondered, was in the helicopter?

_Enough to take Alec to safety?_

Because he knew that if he turned Alec in, there would be no question of a doctor -- they'd put a gun to his head, pull the trigger -- a traitor's fate. But he knew people, doctors, in England; one in particular who owed him her brother's life. He didn't know what he'd tell Natalya -- he didn't even know whether Alec would be able to survive the journey, injured as he was. But if he didn't try, he'd never be able to live with himself.

"Stay with me, Alec," he'd whispered. "I know this is going to hurt, but be brave."

Then he'd lifted Alec's shoulders again and dragged him to the helicopter. Kept moving, though he felt like the world had dropped out from under his feet, like he'd come undone.

And now, almost four months later, he was feeling the same way; everything he'd thought he'd known was dissolving out from under him. Alec was hiding things from him, _deceiving_ him.

Could another betrayal be far behind?

And what, he wondered, could he do to prevent it? Lie to Alec, keep him in casts? That wouldn't work for long; he'd noticed the lines that Alec scratched in the plaster above his wrist. One more small betrayal; one more proof -- as if he'd needed any -- that Alec didn't trust him. Trying to delay would only make Alec suspicious.

Once Alec was out of the casts, though, once he started to move -- it wouldn't be too hard to arrange a slip, a fall; nothing serious, just enough to put Alec back in a cast for a few more months, buy himself a little more time ...

But there was one thing he did know; he was not going to lose Alec again. No matter _what_ it took.


	30. Big Day

"Hey." Alec heard James's voice, calling him out of the doze. "Wake up, sleepyhead, you'll miss your big day.

_Big day?_ He rubbed his eyes, trying to figure out what James meant. He didn't have big days; he just lay on his back and ... oh.

"Casts coming off?" he mumbled.

"Unless you'd rather stay in them for a few more months."

Alec shoved down the part of himself that said it would be easier if he said yes, easier if he just spent the next months -- or years -- flat on his back. At least then he wouldn't have to decide ... "The sooner the better." Before he changed his mind.

"All right, then." James pulled off his wristwatch and activated the laser. He aimed it at the cast, and held it there for only a moment -- long enough to burn through the outer plaster layer. Then he moved along.

It didn't take him long to burn through the outer layer. Then he brought out a pair of medical shears, and cut through the padding.

Finally, finally, he lifted the casts away. And winced visibly.

Alec felt his face twist, as the smell hit him, as well. "Do I get a shower, too?"

"Oh, definitely," James said, just a bit too hastily. Not that Alec could blame him. Four months without washing ...

While James busied himself with the cast on Alec's arm, Alec took the opportunity to assess his physical condition. He could clearly see the bones of his legs beneath the skin; as far as he could tell, he had _no_ muscle tone whatsoever. New scars, still red against the pallor of his skin.

He tried to raise his leg, and got only a twitch. _Pathetic._

James finished pulling the cast off his arm, and set it aside. Then he lowered the gurney halfway to the ground. Now, Alec saw a wheelchair sitting there, draped in a sheet.

"Ready?" James asked, and slipped his arm under Alec's shoulder. Then he lifted him out, and set him in the chair. Wrapped the sheet around him, and put a hand on his shoulder.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Fine." He managed a smile. "Ready for a shower."

"I'm sure." James bent down and kissed the side of his neck, sending chills through him. He leaned toward the touch, but James was already moving away, unlocking the brakes on the wheelchair, then standing behind it to push.

Alec took the brief opportunity to look around, as James pushed him through the corridor. There still wasn't much to see -- nothing but painted brick. And then they turned into another room.

James had been living like a monk; there was nothing in the room but a bed and a dresser. Two doors -- one closed, probably a closet; through the other he could see a mirror.

And then James pushed him closer, and he caught a glimpse of himself. He looked like hell; gaunt, eyes sunken, hair hanging lank. He averted his eyes, studied the rest of the room instead. The fixtures, even the toilet, were all stainless steel, utilitarian.

And James, always considerate, had put a chair in the shower.

James set the brakes, and lifted him out of the wheelchair, and set him into the plastic chair in the shower. Immediately, Alec started to slide off the slick plastic -- he was too weak even to sit up without help -- but James was ready for this, too. He had a strap of black webbing; he passed it around Alec's waist and then buckled it to the back of the chair.

"Hmm -- tied to a chair again." He smirked up at James. "Just like old times."

Though he had to fight to stay upright, when James let go of his shoulder. He tensed atrophied muscles to keep himself from folding forward. It was a fight; his stomach muscles had gotten a little work; his back had gotten none at all.

"Are you all right?" James asked.

"Call it isometrics." But he wasn't going to be able to keep it up for long. He half-turned -- sending another scream of bright red pain through his muscles -- different muscles, same burn of pain.

Muscles weak from underuse. Even the slightest movement made him ache like he'd just run a marathon.

He expected James to turn on the water -- but instead, he started to undress.

_Of course. Wouldn't want to ruin his suit._

But he couldn't help watching, as James stripped down. His eyes followed James's fingers, as they opened the buttons on his shirt, one after another. Long, graceful fingers that could wrap around his cock, or slide, slicked with lube, into him.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine," Alec said. He managed a smirk. "Just enjoying the striptease."

"Oh, really." James pulled the shirt open and then slid it slowly off his shoulders and let it drop. Alec followed the fall of the billowing fabric with his eyes.

Now, James had his hands on his belt buckle; for a moment, though, he paused. Studied Alec, until he felt like he was under a microscope.

Then he undid his buckle, unbuttoned and unzipped his slacks, and let them fall. He stepped out of his slacks, though he still wore his briefs.

Damn him.

Finally, James turned on the water; to Alec's surprise, it was warm. He closed his eyes, and tilted his head back, enjoyed the sensation.

Then he felt James's hands on his head. Smelled something herbal and soapy-- shampoo, he deduced, when James started to massage his scalp.

He let himself relax into the touch, stopped fighting gravity and let James hold him up instead.

Too soon, the fingers left his scalp. He caught a whiff of soap, then, just before the hands were back, on his neck, this time, and then his shoulders.

"Lean forward."

As if he could do anything differently, once James let him go. He let himself fold forward, while soap-slicked fingers dug into the muscles of his back, finding knots of tension and kneading them away, even as they cleaned him of four months' worth of sweat.

Too soon, though, James finished his back and pulled him upright. Moved in front of him to wash first one arm and then the other.

And then Alec felt James's hand on his cheek. "Keep your eyes closed ... " And again the scent of soap, stronger now, as James washed his face. Both hands now, caressing forehead, cheeks ... lips.

"Yes ... " he whispered, tasting soap.

The hands moved lower, down his chin and his neck. Shoulders, chest, belly ... he felt himself getting hard. He felt James's hand on his hip ...

Alec bit down hard on his lower lip, as James's hand slid sideways, and then he felt James's fingers wrap around his cock.

"Please -- " he gasped.

James ignored him, kept his fingers moving, soapy fingers pushing back his foreskin, swirling around the head of his cock ...

... and then he was gone.

"James. Please."

"Shh. Hot water won't last forever."

Damn James, making it sound so bloody _reasonable_. But James had already moved on, to his right foot. Then he began to work his way back up. Then the left leg, and then James was moving to unlock the strap that held Alec to the chair. Pulled him forward, out of the chair, and Alec knew what was coming next. He was alert, hyperalert, aware of everything: the water pounding down on his head and back -- it was starting to cool, or was that just the heat inside him? James's skin, and the solid muscle beneath it, radiating warmth. James's fingers, roaming over him, slicked with soap, and then grazing, just lightly, across --

He let out a moan, fumbled with his good hand, managed to grip James's shoulder. "Please."

And then the fingers were back, with more pressure this time, and slicked with soap, and if he just pressed in, just a little ...

He whimpered, tried to twist against James, but he didn't have the strength. He was hard again, how could James do this to him?

And then the fingers went away. Shifted, to hold him, lowered him until he was kneeling. Held him up with one hand, shielded him from the cooling water, while the other moved to his cock.

"I wanted to make it good for you," James whispered. Wanted to lay you on the bed, kiss you all over. Every inch. Touch you, suck you, and when you're ready, I'd fuck you slowly -- thrust into you -- " He pushed his hand up Alec's cock, and he cried out. "I'd only start out slowly, though, I'd only start out gently. As soon as I get you loosened up, I'd roll you over, push you down on the bed and fuck you, harder and harder, faster and faster," hand moving faster now, pumping, leaving Alec gasping and panting, "I'd _ride_ you, Alec, ride you until you're begging me, then wrap my hand around your cock, and -- "

That was as much as Alec could take; his hips jerked, his fingers tightened on James's shoulder, and he cried out as he came. James pulled him up off his knees and just held him as he trembled.

Gradually, the tremors stopped, his breathing slowed back to normal, and Alec came back to himself. He became aware of the fact that the water was now completely cold, just as James reached awkwardly behind himself to turn it off.

"Come on," he said. "Let's get you dried off."

Alec had thought he was weak before; now his body felt positively _leaden_. He could do nothing to help James as he wrapped him in a towel and lifted him into the chair. He could barely even lift his eyelids. So he just let James rub him down with a towel, then dress him in soft flannel pajamas. He felt his right arm being lifted, and then set in a sling; James pulled him close for a moment to strap the sling around his chest. Then he got him in the wheelchair, and began to push him, one hand on his shoulder to keep him from toppling forward.

They didn't go far; Alec finally got his eyes open, and was surprised to realize that they were still in James's bedroom. And then James was lifting him out of the chair, and lowering him onto the bed.

A real bed. After four months on the gurney, it seemed like unimaginable luxury. James rolled him onto his left side, facing him, and stroked his damp hair back from his cheek. But before Alec could even _try_ to think of something to say, he walked away again.

Alec tried to twist his head to follow him with his eyes, but he was still too weak -- too exhausted. All he could do was lie still and wait.

It seemed like forever, while James puttered around. But finally he felt the mattress shift as James sat down, and then lay flat. And then, like a miracle of old, he felt James roll against his back. Felt James's arm slip around his waist to hold him. James brought his knees up against the backs of Alec's legs, molded himself to Alec, holding him securely.

"There," James whispered, and it was the last thing that Alec heard as he drifted off to sleep; words dissolving until there was nothing left but the comforting sound of James's voice.


	31. To Distraction

For a moment, floating half-awake, Alec didn't remember where he was. His apartment -- James's place? Or was it one of the thousand other places they'd slept, in enemy territory of one kind or another.

James was here, though; pressed up against his back, one arm around his waist. Alec tried to reach back to touch him -- but something was restraining his arm. He opened his eyes, saw the sling. Remembered where he was.

The underground shelter. Where James had bought him, after --

No. He would _not_ think about that, would _not_ remember the pain, the humiliation. He was out of the casts, he'd start physical therapy to rebuild wasted muscles. And when he was well again, he'd -- he'd --

Escape? Kill James? Be able to properly worship him, spending hours on his knees, mouth open, arms locked around his waist, feeling fingers in his hair -- feeling the satisfying _snap_ as James's neck broke, the final spasm of the dying body clenching around him --

He pressed his head against the pillow, as if he could keep the thoughts out by sheer force of will.

James stirred against his back, snuggled against him, and Alec felt a wash of tenderness go through him. Everything James had done, all the pain he'd put him through -- had it all been for this? And didn't that make it all worth it?

He wanted it to be worth it. If it wasn't, if all the hours he'd spent screaming, all the long morphine-hazed days and the weeks and months spent flat on his back were just one long excuse to kill James Bond and he didn't really want that, did he?

Of course he did, because he hated James, hated him and everything he stood for, it shouldn't even be a subject for debate -- so why was it so hard to convince himself of that fact?

He felt James grow half-hard against him. If he could improve on that situation ... seduce James, get him to touch him, hold him ... fuck him into exhaustion, maybe he'd get some peace.

Even if his right arm hadn't been immobilized in the sling, it would have been too weak. Moving slowly so he wouldn't wake James, he wriggled his left arm out from beneath his head, and reached down to take hold of James's hand. He carefully maneuvered it up over the cast, until he was in position to take James's middle finger into his mouth and suck it. Softly, gently, he drew the finger deep into his mouth. He heard James groan, felt him grow fully hard against him.

And then James shifted, pulled his finger away. Got his hand on Alec's shoulder, instead. There was a brief flare of pain, over almost before it had begun, and Alec found himself on his back.

He let out a gasp, as James swung a leg over to straddle him. Carefully, he lowered himself, molded himself to Alec. Began to rub against him, so that Alec could feel the full length of his cock, and the spreading warmth as he himself grew hard. But all he could do was lie there, flat on his back, and look up into eyes nearly all black with need.

Still bracing his arms, James lowered his head. Alec managed to raise the rest of the way, bridging the distance, and letting his lips part ...

And then James let out a groan, rolled away as if he'd been wrenched from Alec by a force greater than himself. Lay gasping, looking as disarrayed as Alec himself felt.

"James," Alec begged, "_Please!_

"We can't."

"What's stopping us?" He reached his good arm across his body and tried to touch James, but he was just out of range. "Please -- "

James sat up. "Last night in the shower wasn't enough for you?"

"Enough for last night, perhaps." Alec looked into James's eyes, and drew the tip of his tongue over his lower lip. James stayed in his gaze for a long while, but then jerked his head to the side, shut his eyes. "Alec, we can't -- "

"Why not?"

A smile fluttered across James's lips. "For one thing, you'll need all your strength for physical therapy."

He almost protested that. As long as his body was weak, he didn't have to test the fear that was growing in the back of his mind; that something inside him was broken, perhaps irreparably. But even as he said it, he knew how irrational it would sound to James.

Wouldn't it? Or would it be exactly what James wanted to hear, proof of his victory.

He couldn't bear to even _think_ that. Instead, he whispered, "James, please."

"Later." And then he grinned wickedly. "When you can sit up on your own, I promise I'll do anything you want."

Weak as he was, that could take _days_. "Can't we just -- "

"Shh." James stroked his hair, once, twice, then laid a finger across his lips. "I don't want to exhaust you _before_ your workout."

Alec let out a resigned sigh. "Let's get on with it, then." After all, he told himself, a workout could be just what he needed. Good, clean pain to distract him from his thoughts, and in the end, exhaustion was exhaustion.


	32. Needs

"There you go," James encouraged Alec; "Just a bit further -- " Alec's breath was coming in ragged gasps, as he fought to pull his knees up to his chest. James was taking most of the weight, lifting and guiding Alec's feet; there was no way Alec could have done it himself. He just didn't have the strength. Already, James could see his muscles trembling.

"There," James said at last. He lowered Alec's feet back down, straightened his legs on the gurney. "That's good. Time to rest ... "

Alec shook his head. "One more."

"You don't want to exhaust yourself."

"Why not?" Alec smiled, but there was an edge to it. "It's one way of getting a good night's sleep."

James raised his eyebrows. "As opposed to ... ?"

"Getting fucked to the point of exhaustion. Since you're withholding the one, you could at least allow me the other."

"Poor Alec. So deprived ... "

"It's not funny, James!" The vehemence in Alec's voice startled him; he wondered if Alec had meant to show that much need.

Probably not, judging by the way he tried to backpedal. "I'm bored. I've been flat on my back for months -- "

" -- and I've been _so_ unsympathetic." He moved to the head of the bed, reached down to cup Alec's cheek with his hand. He could feel the tension vibrating through Alec, as he fought the urge to press himself into the hand.

"Poor Alec," he murmured again, no sarcasm this time. "You never did well on bedrest. I remember one time -- the nurses were threatening to chain you to the bed."

"I would've only picked the locks," Alec said. The corner of his mouth twitched, despite his best efforts. "And when our positions were reversed, you were hardly a paragon of -- "

"Patient patienthood?" James suggested. He bent down and kissed Alec, just lightly, on the lips. Pulled back before either one of them could press the issue. "Enough rest," he said, as he moved behind the head of the bed, so he would be able to lift Alec's head and shoulders. "Back to work."


	33. Broken Doll

The dishes done, James walked back into the bedroom -- only to find Alec sound asleep. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised; between the exercises, the sponge bath, and dinner, Alec's small supply of energy had been more than exhausted.

They'd have to work on that.

Though probably not tonight; Alec's face looked pinched and drawn. His hair, badly in need of a trim, tumbled across his forehead. James bent over and brushed it back. Alec mumbled sleepily, and turned his head slightly, pressing his scarred cheek into the palm of James's hand. For a moment, James was tempted to tilt Alec's head back, kiss him awake ...

But there would be plenty of time for that later. Once Alec regained his strength. Once James dared to touch him with more than a feather-light touch without worrying about breaking him again.

It had never been like that before. Always before, Alec had been his equal, well-matched in strength. He couldn't imagine touching _this_ Alec, weak and fragile as he was.

Though Alec clearly had other ideas.

James studied Alec, as he unbuttoned his shirt. Tried to imagine what it would be like, fucking him again. Muscles vibrating with tension, limbs locked together in what sometimes seemed closer to combat than sex. There had never been much gentleness between them, much tenderness -- they'd saved that for their women. Though sometimes, in the night, they'd fallen asleep in each others' arms, they'd never spoken of it later. Just exhaustion, he'd always told himself in the morning.

And now?

He reached out again, but paused before he could touch Alec. Better, he thought, to let him sleep.

Everything had changed, between them. Hadn't it?

So why didn't he trust Alec?

He stood there, studying him, for a long time; the new lines of pain in his face, the gaunt, wasted limbs.

But Alec had forgiven him that ... hadn't he? He _understood_ didn't he? They'd been fighting for survival, and if things had gone differently ...

James shook his head, feeling suddenly exhausted. He wished, for just the briefest of moments, that he'd had the sense to just leave Alec to die in Cuba. No, even that had been too late.

Maybe if Alec had had the decency to put a bullet his head, while he lay drugged in the field of statues? Still too late. He still would have known.

Arkangel'sk. That was where it had all gone wrong. If only he'd caught a bullet in the initial firefight, how much pain would that have saved both of them? He would have died believing that Alec Trevelyan was still a loyal friend, and Alec would have gone on to destroy the British economy, and somehow, he couldn't bring himself to give a damn.

He stepped out of his slacks, kicked them carelessly into a corner, and climbed into bed. Molded himself against Alec, felt the warmth from his body sink into his skin -- though it wasn't enough to reach where the real cold was.

Alec let out a contented sigh, and tilted his head back against James. That had to make everything worth it, didn't it? All the lies he'd told to M, to Natalya -- all the pain he'd put Alec through.

Because if it wasn't, then he had to wonder -- of the two of them, who was truly the more broken?


	34. A Little Death

"See?" Alec said, trying to keep the strain out of his voice, as he dug his good hand into the sheets beneath the pile of blankets. "Sitting up."

"So it would seem," James said. And then he threw back the blanket, exposing the ruse.

"You didn't say _how_ I needed to stay sitting up," Alec pointed out. Not that he expected James to agree, but he had to at least make the argument --

"Hmm ... " James looked thoughtful. And then he slid his arms around Alec's shoulders. Alec expected James to lower him back to the pillow. But instead, he lowered his mouth to Alec's. Kissed him gently, just the tip of his tongue sliding along the top of Alec's lower lip. Alec, barely daring to hope, stayed still, not wanting to press the issue. Though he couldn't hold back the shudder that ran through him.

James drew back. "You're not cold, are you?" He began to reach for the pajama top he'd been about to dress Alec in.

Alec put his hand on James's arm. "You'll warm me up." He more than half expected James to pull away, even if only to tease him. But instead James leaned in closer, kissed him again.

This time, when James slid his tongue into his mouth, Alec took action, drew the tongue deeper in, sucked on it.

James groaned, and Alec felt the hands tighten on his back. He got his good hand up, and reached for James's belt buckle. Fumbled it open, and went for the catch, then the zipper.

But before Alec could work his hand inside, James pulled back. Alec let out a whimper of protest, but before he had time to wrap words around it, he was on his back. James straddled his hips, then slowly began to lower himself. Halfway down, though, he stopped, and undid the strap to the sling. Gently, carefully, he straightened the arm, laid it down by Alec's side.

"Bloody hell, James," Alec groaned. "I'm not made of glass. I won't break if you touch me."

For an answer, James rubbed his thumb along Alec's collarbone -- enough to send a jolt of pain through Alec's shoulder, but only for a moment. He controlled his expression -- but James didn't look convinced.

Though the position that James was in -- hips pressing down on Alec, so that they lay cock-to-cock, only a few thin layers of cloth separating them -- was a far more urgent discomfort. Just the heat from James's body, the nearness, was making him hard.

Damn James. Damn him. Perched there, over him, balanced precariously -- inspiration struck. He'd regained a fair amount of strength in his left arm; now, he put it to the test. Reached out and grabbed James by the shirt-front, pulled him down. Held him there. Kissed him.

If James had wanted to escape, he could have -- Alec knew he wasn't nearly strong enough to hold him. But instead, he stayed. Kissed back. And suddenly James was sucking on his tongue, _sucking it like a cock_, and at the thought, Alec felt himself grow harder, achingly hard, though the weight of James's body kept it pressed against his belly. And then James began to move, grinding his hips in slow circles. And there was nothing, nothing, that Alec could do. He was along for the ride, totally at James's mercy ...

If James didn't stop soon, he was going to explode. If James stopped ...

But he remembered the rules of the game. How they'd pushed each other, teased each other, until one of them broke and begged, and then the winner would give the loser exactly what he wanted, what they both wanted, and really, what was a another shred of dignity worth when James was twisting his hips like _that_ \--

When James came up for air, Alec moaned "Need you. Please ... "

"Please what?"

"Please, James, fuck me. I need to feel you inside me. Oh God -- " he cried, as James changed the rhythm of his hips, from grinding to a slow thrusting motion. Alec bit his lip as the hard ridge of James's cock pressed up against his belly, teasing him with the memory of how it had felt inside -- "I'm going to -- "

"Well, we can't have that, can we?" James rolled off Alec in one smooth motion, lay on his side, his head propped up on one hand. He looked obscenely relaxed about the whole thing.

"James -- you can't -- "

"Can't what?"

"Can't just _leave me_ like this!"

"Like what?" James asked innocently.

Alec growled in frustration. If James wouldn't take care of him -- he slid his hand down his belly, and under the waistband of his pajama bottoms.

But before he could even start, James took hold of his wrist and gently, but insistently, pulled his hand up. Pinned it up by his head.

"James ... "

"Shh ... breathe. Deep, slow breaths."

Almost against his will, Alec found his breath slowing, falling into rhythm with James. He felt his erection subside.

Finally, James let go of his wrist. His fingers trailed down Alec's arm, then lazily across his chest.

"Bloody hell, James."

"Shh." Fingers trailed lower. Nudged the waistband of his pajamas down, circled his navel lazily.

Alec turned his head, looked at James. His eyes were intent, now; Alec could imagine that he was weighing and measuring each shudder that ran through him, as the fingers circled ever lower.

Now that his hand was free, Alec raised it, cupped James's cheek. Traced his thumb across James's lips. James turned his head, pressed his lips into the palm of his hand. But only for a moment; then, he leaned over, brushed his lips against Alec's.

"Please," Alec breathed.

James nodded, once, tightly. Alec almost cried out when he pulled away -- but only far enough to stand up at the end of the bed. He bent forward, hooked his fingers into the waistband of Alec's pajama bottoms, and pulled them off in one smooth movement.

Alec hated to look at his wasted body, thin legs like knobby sticks, just another reminder -- as if he needed one -- of how weak he was. So instead, he looked at James. Smiled, rang his tongue over his lower lip. "Your turn."

James smiled, and then slowly, slowly, began to undo his buttons. Let the shirt fall. Then the trousers, then the briefs, letting his erection spring free.

Alec licked his lips again, remembering the taste of that cock, the feel of it as it had slipped into his mouth, or --

\-- and then James walked to the head of the bed, opened the drawer of the bedside table. Pulled out a small white tube. Held it in his hand for a long moment before he came back to the bed. Spread Alec's legs, and knelt between them.

"James," Alec gasped. "Please."

But James just knelt there, for a long moment. Then, just lightly, he began to brush his fingertips along the insides of his thighs. Closer, closer. Picked up the tube of lubricant. Squeezed some onto his middle finger, and pressed his fingertip against Alec's opening.

"Are you ready for this? Perhaps we should wait a few more -- "

"_James!_

He shrugged. "Just checking." Just the lightest hint of pressure, and the slicked finger slipped in.

Alec groaned. Cried out softly, as the finger curved, pressed up _there_, and oh god, James still knew how and where to -- _Oh._

And then he was arching up, wasted muscles flexing, and the thought trailed through his mind that he'd hurt in the morning but it didn't matter, because oh -- the things James could do with just a finger --

And then another finger joined the first, twisting in and out, _corkscrewing_ \--

His fingers clutched at the sheets. "Please -- "

"God, you're tight."

"Nine years," he gasped. "Nine years, five months, and -- if I -- if you had a calendar -- "

"Would you like me to go get you one?" Fingers pulling back, almost completely out of him.

"No. God!" Fingers twisting back in, hard and fast. Third finger. James held still. Alec tried to arch his hips, tried to twist against James, get him to put his fingers _there_ again, but he couldn't, the spirit wanted to be fucked but the flesh was still too damned weak or shouldn't that be the other way around and James was just _sitting_ there -- "Please!"

And then the fingers were gone. Alec fought to control his breathing, to keep his body relaxed. He could see James stroking himself, slicking his cock with the lubricant. And then he felt James's hands on his hips, lifting and tilting him, and for a moment he was embarrassed that he couldn't even do that much for himself. Then the tip of James's cock nudged his entrance and he forgot everything else.

"Ready?"

"Have been since -- oh -- " James's cock slid into him in one smooth movement.

And then he was in. _To the hilt._ James held still, let him adjust, let him reacquaint himself with the sensation. Hands feather-light on his hips, his belly, one wrapping around his cock to slick it, too, and Alec was sure it would make him come, but after a single pump, it was gone.

And then James leaned over. Scooped Alec up in his arms, pulled him upright on the edge of the bed.

Held him.

Nuzzled his neck. Blazed a trail of kisses down to his collarbone. And all Alec could do was clutch weakly at James's shoulder. He was so weak, James was so strong -- and he realized with a shock how _turned on_ he was by that fact.

_Oh, James, what have you done to me?_

And then James pulled out, thrust home, and any thoughts more complicated than _more_ were driven from Alec's mind. He clung to James as best he could, as every thrust drove him closer to the edge. Every time James moved, his belly would rub up against the slicked underside of his cock ...

"I'm going to -- James -- "

"Hang on," James gasped. "Almost there!"

But he couldn't. He was exploding, dissolving, drowning in James. He cried out, every muscle in his body tensing, and James kept thrusting, four or five more times, his arms tightening around Alec until he could barely breathe, before he let out a groan and went still.

Alec felt his breath start to slow, while James shuddered around him. Held him tight, and it felt so good to be held, strong arms keeping him upright. He ducked his head, laid it on James's shoulder, an awkward position, but worth it when James finally took a deep breath. His hand came up to cradle the back of Alec's head; for a long minute, James just held him.

Sooner or later, he knew, James would let him go. Sooner or later, he always did. But Alec forced the thought from his mind with an act of will, and concentrated on how good it felt, just to be held.


	35. Resurrecting the Past

The light burning behind his eyelids woke James. Gradually, he became aware of the warm weight on him, pinning his right arm. He opened his eyes to find Alec sprawled across him; he could feel his warm breath against his shoulder.

They'd collapsed, the night before -- the strength had gone out of him, and Alec hadn't had any to begin with. He'd barely managed to maneuver the two of them into a relatively comfortable arrangement, to pull the covers up over the two of them. The lights had been out of reach, low priority. He'd drifted off to sleep, Alec still wrapped in his arms.

A wave of nostalgia hit him. How often had they done that -- fucked themselves to exhaustion, and then used the excuse that they were too tired to move to explain away falling asleep in each others' arms.

Always before, the first one to wake would extricate himself gently, shower, dress, start the coffee. Now, tentatively, he reached up to stroke Alec's hair. Gently ran his fingers through the tangled strands.

Alec sighed, shifted, buried his face in the crook of James's neck.

"I'm sorry," James said, pulling his hand away. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Didn't say you should _stop_," Alec mumbled.

Tentatively, almost awkwardly, James returned his hand to Alec's hair. Coiled too-long strands around one finger. "You need a haircut," he said, to have something to say.

"Well then," Alec murmured, "I suppose you'll just have to kidnap me a barber."

"I could give you a haircut myself."

"What, with a bowl over my head?" James could hear the smirk in Alec's voice.

Rather than answering, he asked, "How are you feeling?"

"A little sore." Alec raised his head, nipped at James's jaw. "I had a good workout last night."

"Glad you enjoyed it."

"Don't be so smug, James."

"Why not?" He trailed his fingers down Alec's spine, felt a shudder run through him. "It felt like your whole body clenched around my cock."

Alec groaned into the crook of James's neck, and James felt the poke of a stirring erection against his belly.

"You really _are_ insatiable."

"Only around you." Alec's voice was soft, almost confessional. "No one else -- man or woman -- has ever been able to touch me like that."

"Mmm." James slid his arms around Alec. "We've always been good together. In bed, out of it -- " He shivered at the memory -- after nine years, he'd almost managed to forget how responsive Alec was. How good that tight heat felt, when he thrust in. Alec's body arching up to welcome him ...

"_Especially_ out of it," Alec said. "So many creative uses you can put a chair to, or a table -- not to mention some of Q's more specialized equipment -- "

Suddenly, Alec fell silent. James wondered what he was thinking -- of some of their more unorthodox sexual adventures, or of what he had left behind.

Was he regretting it? Somehow, James didn't dare press the issue. Instead, he tried to steer the conversation back to safer territory. "When I think of some of the places we've fucked over the years -- I'm surprised we didn't both end up dead. I mean, all it would have taken would have been one wrong jolt on the box of nitroglycerine -- " He stroked Alec's hair again, but then moved his hand lower, across Alec's back, and down to his waist. "But I wanted to feel you inside me so badly -- wanted your cock in me, almost more than I wanted to live -- "

"Stop!" Alec's voice came out strangled. "Please." His breath was ragged. "James. I can't even stand, much less -- "

"Oh, I suppose I could do all the work _again_. Straddle you. Ride your cock until we were both -- "

"It's bad enough being flat on my back without you thinking it's _funny_!" He shifted his weight, grunting with effort, and after a moment of confusion James realized that he was trying to push away, but it was his right arm, still weak almost to the point of uselessness, that was in position. He couldn't even raise himself.

"Hey," James whispered, and stroked Alec's hair. "I'm sorry. I didn't -- I'm sorry."

Alec kept straining, and finally managed to raise his chest -- but he didn't have the strength to complete the maneuver. He flopped back down. Buried his face once more in the crook of James's neck.

"Alec, do you want me to roll you over?"

"I want to do it my own damn self!" His voice was petulant. But he was lying still now, apparently drained. "I'm tired of this, tired of it all."

"Alec ... " James took a deep breath. Slid his fingers into Alec's hair. "You don't need to walk. Don't need to stand. You could always make me hard with just a word, just a look, promising me what I'd get later. Could get me off by barely touching me, just the feel of your hand through my trousers, while you whispered in my ear ... Now he heard his own voice going ragged, and the press of Alec's body on his was almost too much, but neither was he willing to relinquish that warm weight. Not yet.

_Not ever._

"James. God. I want -- I need -- "

"Anything," he whispered. "Just name it."

But Alec fell silent. James turned his head, to try and get a glimpse of his face. But Alec's face was buried in the crook of his neck, out of sight. James was afraid if he pushed too hard, he'd only make Alec retreat, make him shut down. Like he had so many times before.

So all he could do was put his arms around Alec, and hold him tight, and hope that it would be enough.


	36. Love or Loyalty

Fed, showered, shaved, and dressed in fresh pajamas, Alec relaxed into the wheelchair. But when James went to put his arm into the sling, he shook his head.

"It feels fine. I'll be careful." He smiled ruefully. "After all, it's not as if I'll be saving the world any time soon."

"True enough." James set the sling aside. Alec moved to cradle his arm with his good hand. Tried to curl it up toward his chest. It took effort -- but he managed.

Of course, as he'd learned earlier, it wasn't as if he could use it to shift his body weight. But he was willing to enjoy his small triumphs.

He used his good arm to brace himself upright in the wheelchair -- another small triumph -- and smiled up at James. "Kiss?"

"Insatiable," James teased, but there was worry in his eyes as he bent over, tipped Alec's head back for a gentle, almost chaste, kiss.

_Hold me_, Alec wanted to beg, but he couldn't quite bring himself to ask. He'd had his chance, had drifted off in James's arms, woken there too. Twice.

If the rumbling of his stomach hadn't woken them the second time, they'd probably still be there.

And he couldn't think of a better way to spend the rest of his life.

_Amazing. He sticks his cock in you -- just like he's done with a thousand women -- and you think it's love._

The words were like a punch to his chest, driving out all the air in his body. He must have made some small sound, or perhaps winced from the blow, because James looked worriedly down at him. "Alec?"

He squeezed his eyes shut. Turned his head, so he wouldn't have to face him. "James."

And then James's arms slid around him. He wanted to sink down, relax into those strong arms, but how many times had he deluded himself that it meant something?

_"He'll betray you,"_ James had said, on the train. _"Just like everyone else."_ But the truth was, they'd both been trained to betray -- to lie, to decieve, to work their way into the trust of their enemies, even if it meant feigning love.

The trick, he knew, was to actually feel that love. To fool yourself as much as the target. James had always been better at it than he had. But when it came down to it, James had but one love, one loyalty. And even as he let James pull him close, even as he began to relax into that embrace, he knew. It didn't matter how much James loved him.

As long as he was tied to England, Alec could never be sure of his loyalty.


	37. Serious Conversation

"Dinner in bed -- don't you think that sounds a little ridiculous?" Alec asked.

"Not at all," James said, reaching out to caress his cheek. Alec didn't turn away, but neither did he lean into the touch like he otherwise might have.

All day he'd been like this; stubbornly uncommunicative. Withdrawn.

James was starting to wonder if he'd made a mistake. He'd thought that sex would bond them together, the way it always had in the past -- but now they seemed farther apart than ever.

He settled down on his haunches, so he was at eye level with Alec. "Talk to me," he ordered.

Alec looked at him for a moment, and then smirked. "Sometimes, I really wish you could cook. Do you know how long it's been since I've had a real fry-up? Bacon, and eggs, and tomatoes ... "

"Alec -- be serious."

"I am," Alec said, his eyes going wide and innocent. "What could be more serious than a good English breakfast?"

James sighed. Obviously, he wasn't going to get anything out of Alec by trying to push him.

"Let me get you into bed," he said. Before Alec could protest, he pushed the chair to the bedside. But he was forgetting something. "I need to get your pajamas -- I'll be right back."

He was halfway back, though, when he heard a crash, and cursing. He dashed the last few yards to find Alec clinging to the bedsheets, trying to hold himself up even though his legs had buckled beneath his weight. James hurried to lift him the rest of the way into the bed.

"You forgot to lock the wheels," he said.

"I didn't realize you were about to try something stupid."

"It's not bloody stupid to want to be able to get into bed under my own power."

"No, you're right, it's not." He brushed a strand of hair back out of Alec's face. It wasn't surprising that Alec was going a little stir-crazy. He'd have to remedy that -- and soon. "I was just afraid that you'd hurt yourself."

For a moment, he thought Alec was going to say something -- perhaps even a moment of honesty. But then it passed, his face closed off again. "Get the dinner," he said. "I'm tired."


	38. Field Trip

Blindfolded, buckled into the passenger's seat of James's car, Alec had to fight not to let the trickle of doubt turn into raw panic -- did he really _know_ that they weren't heading to MI-6 headquarters right now?

After all, if James had wanted to betray him, he would have done so months before -- wouldn't he?

_Unless he's changed his mind._

He knew that he hadn't given James much reason to enjoy his company in the past few days. He'd been snappy, grouchy, uncommunicative ...

_Maybe he's finally figured out that his brainwashing didn't take._

Except that Alec was fairly certain that it _had_. Otherwise why was he more worried that James might have betrayed him, than by the fact that said betrayal would more than likely lead to his death?

He'd already decided that he wouldn't fight. What would be the point?

But what if they didn't plan on executing him? What if they preferred a _live_ prisoner? Obligingly, his mind conjured up a scenario. They needed his information, his knowledge of the Russian criminal underworld. They'd lock him in a bare cell -- a camera on him all the time so he'd have no chance to suicide.

Would they beat him, he wondered? Torture him?

Though surely all they would need was to have James ask the questions. Softly. Gently. _"The cameras are off,"_ he'd say, one hand sliding up Alec's thigh -- and though they both would know it was a lie, after even a few days without his touch, Alec needed it so badly that it didn't matter ...

"Alec?"

He blinked behind the blindfold, caught between nightmare and reality.

"Hey, sleepyhead, wake up. We're here."

He swallowed, his throat gone dry. "Well," he said, feigning an impatience he did not at all feel, "are you going to show me? Or is it going to be like one of our old training exercises -- determine as much about the location as possible without using sight?"

If so, he was destined to fail; his senses were overwhelmed by James -- the scent of his aftershave, the heat radiating from his body -- to sense anything beyond that.

And then James pulled the blindfold off. Dazzled, Alec blinked in the light.

How long had it been since he'd been outside -- since there had been anything above him but white acoustic tile? He craned his neck to look beyond James, to see the sky.

Gray, of course -- if he hadn't known they were in England, that would have convinced him. He inhaled. The air smelled like rain.

"Do you like your surprise?" James asked.

"Rain in England? Hardly what I'd call a surprise." He looked beyond James, and saw that they were in a parking lot. The Fettered Frog, the sign said -- they were at a pub.

"Since you've been complaining about my cooking skills -- "

"Oh, I wouldn't go so far as to call them _skills_, James."

James let out a soft chuckle, and slid his arm behind Alec's shoulders. Gently, carefully, he pulled Alec out of the seat. Alec got his feet on the ground -- he could do that much to help the transfer to the wheelchair easier, even if he still couldn't support his full weight.

Finally, he was settled. He relaxed into the wheelchair, in equal parts grateful for James's strong arms and annoyed at his own continued weakness.

James pushed the chair across the gravel. Any other man, Alec thought, would have had trouble. But for James, it was easy. Alec imagined him for a moment, steel-cable muscles tensed and straining beneath his custom-tailored shirt. Then they came to the steps, but they were low and broad. James simply tilted the chair back, and pushed harder.

Inside it was cool. Not so quiet as home -- it was filled with the clink of silverware against plates, the low murmur of conversation.

Alec found himself shrinking back, against the seat of the wheelchair.

If James noticed his distress, he said nothing.

When the hostess saw James, her professional smile became a bit more real. She pulled the chair away from one of the tables, so James could push in the wheelchair. She'd barely left them with the menus, when the waitress approached. "Hello, love," she said, apparently determined to dote on him. "Will you have tea?"

"Coffee, thanks."

Alec wished he had a gun.

"Do you need a minute?"

"No, thank you. I'd like orange juice, three eggs, lightly scrambled, bacon, and toast with marmalade."

"Very good, sir. And him?"

_I can answer for myself,_ he wanted to say. But he found himself keeping silent. It was easier just to let James order his fry-up for him.

When he thought about it, it made sense. He'd been isolated for close to six months. Except for his brief conversation with the doctor, he'd had no contact with anyone but James. Was it any wonder, then, that his social skills had atrophied as well as his muscles.

To his surprise, he found himself longing for home. For the clean quiet and the white-painted walls. Failing that, he wanted to press himself into James's arms and hide there.

But then the waitress was back, bringing with her a plate of heavenly-smelling food.

"Do you need help cutting that?" James asked.

"No, I think I can manage." He scooped a forkful of bacon, egg, sharp cheddar, and pan-fried tomato into his mouth. After months of living on energy gels and James's cooking, the taste was nearly orgasmic.

It must have shown on his face, because James said "It looks like I should take you out more often."

A bolt of fear went through him, at that, but he controlled it. He'd get over his fear. And then he'd break the brainwashing.

And then?

That was an even darker fear -- that once he'd gotten through whatever James had done to him, there'd be nothing of _himself_ left.

Rather than think about it, he took another bite of food.

Whatever he found -- whatever he decided to do -- he'd definitely need his strength.


	39. Border Crossing

"Feeling better?" James asked, as Alec finally finished his fry-up.

"Yes. God, that was good!"

"Shouldn't that be _my_ line?"

"Later," Alec said, though his smile was more tired than roughish. James suspected that he'd be asleep by the time they made their first turn on the way home.

Not that he was worried about Alec retracing the route -- not yet, while he couldn't even walk. But the more precautions he could take, the better. "Shall we go?"

Alec swallowed the last of his coffee. "I suppose so."

James paid the bill, and pushed Alec's chair back to the entrance. He turned the chair backward and started to back it down the steps.

"Promise you won't drop me?" Alec asked. His tone was light, but behind it, there had to be a serious question.

"I promise."

James managed to get Alec down the stars and settled in the car without incident. As predicted, he was soon asleep.

They were halfway home, when trouble hit.

Somehow, he'd always had trouble driving slowly; today was no exception. So it shouldn't have been a shock when he heard the sound of a police siren behind him. He pulled over to the side of the road, and kept his hands on the wheel. _No need to panic._

He had, as always, a set of falsified ID. The officer looked at it and returned it without comment. But then he looked at Alec. "Sir, I'll need to see his ID, too."

James felt his heart-rate speed up, but forced the adrenaline down. He'd crossed tighter borders than this. He could handle it ...

"Sir?"

And then Alec opened his eyes. He cocked his head at the officer, and then raised one emaciated arm, to point at the badge. "Pretty," he said, in a voice that sounded slurred, dreamy.

The officer stepped back, and Alec continued to point. "Pretty."

"No, Tommy. You can't have the nice officer's badge." He smiled apologetically. "I'm afraid a driver's license would be wasted on him."

"So I see." He was looking at Alec, and both of them, with pity, now. "Well, then, I'll let you go on your way."

"Thank you."

James rolled up the window, and turned to Alec. "That was quick thinking."

"In case it had escaped your notice, people have a tendency to equate a damaged body with a defective brain." He shrugged. "I merely took advantage of the fact."

"Well, it saved the officer's life -- and saved me the exertion of hiding the body."

"Just part of the service, James." He yawned, and settled back into the seat.

James studied him for another moment, before starting the car. Somehow, he felt like he'd crossed an invisible border -- that the balance of power had shifted in some way he couldn't even begin to define.


	40. A Journey of a Thousand Miles

"Don't worry," James said. "I've got you. I won't let you fall."

Alec looked up at James. _Does he mean that?_ he had to wonder, _Beyond the obvious and immediate?_

He wasn't going to think about that. He grasped James's arms, and let him pull him to his feet. But as soon as he was standing, he felt himself start to wobble. He was too weak ...

_Hell with that._ He squared his shoulders. "I'm ready."

Carefully, he shifted his weight to his right foot. Then, he slid his left foot forward, just a few inches.

He'd done it. One step.

And then his knees gave way. James caught him and eased him back into the chair.

"For my next trick ... "

"Shh." James pressed a finger to his lips. "I'm proud of you."

Alec settled himself back into his seat. He had a long way to go -- but that wouldn't erase the glow of triumph. He was finally on his way back.


	41. On the Horizon

"Alec, perhaps you should -- "

_Take it easy,_ he'd been about to say, but Alec cut him off. "I can manage." He slid the walker forward, braced himself against it, and took two shuffling steps forward. Then he slid the walker forward again.

Things were moving too fast. Only two days ago, he'd been unable to take more than a single step. Now, he looked like he'd make it across the room.

How much longer would it be, James wondered, before he'd be walking unassisted?

How much longer before he'd be a _threat_?

The thought hit him like a punch in the chest. He didn't want to believe it -- didn't even want to _think_ about it.

He'd saved Alec's life.

After nearly ending it.

He wasn't ready for Alec to be walking again. He slid behind Alec, halted his shuffling progress by putting his arms around him. "I don't want you to get _too_ tired," he murmured. "I've got plans for you tonight."


	42. Power Play

James was just sliding into bed, when Alec said "I believe you promised me sex."

Not that James objected, but he wasn't quite ready to yield the initiative. "Well, I ... "

"I distinctly recall you saying that you had plans for me."

"Plans," James said, "Could have been anything. Dinner and a movie ... "

"I think I'd prefer a not-so-quiet evening at home." Alec pushed himself up on one elbow. He was definitely getting stronger. He had absolutely no trouble reaching out to stroke James's cheek. "I want to hear you screaming my name."

But James was still stronger. He caught Alec's arm, and forced him over onto his back. "I think I'd rather it was my name," he said.

"So look in a mirror."

"Hmm ... I don't think so." He slung a leg over Alec, and pinned him down. "I'd rather have you doing the screaming."

Instead of replying, Alec slid his hand down to cup James's cock through his pajamas. Even through the two layers of fabric, James thought the touch would scorch him. He felt himself start to grow hard.

Alec smirked.

He used his other hand to pull down the waistband of James's pajamas. Skin to bare skin -- James felt himself gasp. He let his head tilt back, as Alec stroked his cock. "Don't stop."

But Alec grinned, and pulled his hand away. "Make me."

"Don't tempt me, Alec."

"Why not?" Alec asked. "You look so _good_ when your sense of duty is at war with your desire to fuck me through the mattress."

_Sense of duty?_ James felt a flare of anger, but pushed it down. He could still feel it, though, burning in the pit of his stomach.

He leaned over as though to kiss Alec. Instead, he grabbed both his wrists, and pinned them to the wall behind him. Alec smirked up at him, and ran the tip of his tongue along his lip.

"Tempting," James whispered. He ran his free hand up Alec's side, then changed course, circled one nipple with his fingertip. "But I think I'd rather listen to you beg."

Alec opened his mouth to say something more, then, but James clamped his thumb and finger tightly on Alec's nipple. Squeezed until he felt Alec arch beneath him, then twisted. Alec bit down on his lower lip, but did not make a sound, though his breathing grew ragged.

James released his grip, let his fingers circle lazily again. Alec sank down to the mattress, panting. His eyes were glassy; his tongue darted along his lips again. James reached back; he wasn't surprised when he found Alec half-hard, already. One quick stroke of his hand drew a groan from Alec; he returned his hand to Alec's nipple.

This time, he didn't let go until Alec began to curse.

"Still think that tempting me was a good idea?"

Alec gave a tight nod. Then he twisted his wrists away from each other, pulled out of James's grasp. "Not so omnipotent as you think, 007."

Suddenly irritated, James pulled away. Alec started to protest, but James grabbed his ankles, and pulled him to the end of the bed, then flipped him onto his stomach. Leaned over to whisper in his ear. "Omnipotent as I need to be, Alec."

He pulled Alec up so he was on his knees, then pushed his face down onto the bed. When he reached between his legs, he found him completely hard. Just that touch made him moan.

James got the lube, and began to get Alec ready. He was annoyed enough to hurry; Alec was almost too tight when he thrust in. Alec cried out.

James went still, wrapped his arm around Alec, suddenly afraid he'd pushed him too far. "Are you -- "

"M'all right. Loosen me up." He took a shuddering breath, let it out slowly. "Just don't stop."

James started slowly, this time, giving Alec time to adjust. Slowly, slowly, until Alec was arching into him. "More -- "

James straightened, changing the angle. Every thrust made Alec jerk, as if he'd been hit by a small electric shock. James grabbed a handful of his hair, twisting it. "Touch yourself," he said. "You have five minutes."

It was less than half that, when Alec began to buck and thrash beneath him. James had to hold on to keep himself from being thrown off, but he kept up the rhythm, thrusting into Alec. He wanted to let go, to lose himself in Alec -- but he kept himself under control, even when Alec began to tighten around him.

"James -- god!"

He rode Alec's climax and kept thrusting, three, four more times -- establishing his possession -- before he allowed himself to lose control. His fingers twisted even tighter in Alec's hair, and he heard Alec yelp in startled pain, but it was lost in his own groan of pleasure.

He went limp, sagged on top of Alec for a long moment and just _breathed_.

Finally, he came back to himself enough to drag Alec up so that he was lying flat. He had just enough strength to drag the blankets over both of them, before falling into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.


	43. Cold and Clear

James shifted in his sleep, pulling the blanket with him, and once again, Alec found himself out in the cold.

Again.

He reached behind James to tug at the blanket, but it was too securely pinned. And he didn't want to wake James -- not now. Didn't want to have to talk to him, not with everything roiling in his head. Instead, he reached for his robe, which was draped across the frame of his walker. He levered to a sitting position and put it on. He'd planned on lying back down, but instead, he found himself staring at the walker.

Fuck it. He wasn't going to be sleeping any time soon.

He got a good grip, and eased himself to his feet. His bare feet arched up from the cold floor, but the freedom was exhilarating. To be walking on his own -- _without_ James following him around.

But that meant he was getting better. That meant that sooner or later, he'd be able to --

\-- to what?

He almost slid back into the bed. Back with James, who he suspected was no more comfortable with his return to health. Because as soon as he was healthy enough to walk unaided, they had some decisions to make.

_A slip, a fall, and you could put that off for a few more months._

He shoved the thought away, but now that he'd thought it, it kept circling back.

He eased the walker forward, being careful not to let it screech against the concrete floor. Turned, and headed for the door. Though down here, there wasn't much -- just the other room, with the gurney where he'd spent the first months of his recovery. Not much fun, there.

Except it would be away from James. Maybe if he sat by himself, he'd be able to think more clearly.

To get to the door, he had to pass by the small freezer. If James was true to form ...

He reached in. Yes, there was a mostly-full bottle of Vodka in there. He fumbled it, one-handed, into the pocket of his robe, and continued his slow progress to the other room. He bypassed the gurney, and went to the card table and folding chair that James used to sit at. It was only when he eased himself down that he realized he didn't have any cups.

He took a swig straight from the bottle. It burned its way down.

He took another.

Almost immediately, he started feeling its effects. No surprise there -- on an empty stomach, and he hadn't had a drink in months.

So he took another long swallow.

Killing the pain. Any way you could. He'd gotten used to that, as a 00-agent. If it wasn't drink, it was sex, either with one of a thoudand willing women, or with James, and it didn't have to mean anything either way. Just bodies, mutual pleasure, taking the edge off before a mission, exhilarating in being alive to fuck each other senseless. But it had felt good, it had kept him in contact with another body, and somehow, it had been enough.

Until the moment when he'd been stopped cold by twin revelations:

He was in love with James Bond.

James Bond would never love him.

Janus had been born in that moment, or at least conceived.

Alec studied the bottle of vodka, not sure if he was too drunk or not drunk enough. He decided to go with the latter, since getting drunker was a lot faster than sobering up.

He took another swallow, and another, and one more for good measure.

He'd always tried not to think of his childhood. Of his first six years, spent in a grubby little flat in a grubby little neighborhood in a grubby London suburb. Of the walls so thin he could hear the neighbors screaming, crying, fucking.

Ignorant, superstitious people. _Rabble._

When he took another swig from the bottle, his hands were shaking.

One lot -- the hadn't been there long, but the few months was enough -- had been a member of some religious sect. They'd believed in possession by devils. They'd talked to people about it, talked to his mother one day, while he helped her scrub the floor. How the devil could only be driven out by prayer and pain. Devils didn't like pain.

They'd convinced someone, at least. Another of the neighbors had had a girl, a year or two older than he was, who would sometimes fall to the ground in fits. Epilepsy, he knew now, though as a child he'd been terrified of her. One day, her parents had brought her to the neighbors. He remembered listening, long into the night, as they'd tried to beat the devil out of her.

He hadn't seen her after that night, and not much later, he'd come home to find their apartment empty.

And not much after that, he'd come home to find the door to his own apartment hanging open, and the blood, and --

Too sober. Far, far too sober to think of that. Another long swallow. And another, and he wondered if the crazy neighbors weren't right after all. Maybe, he thought, James had beaten the devil out of him. Maybe Janus had died in the fall to the satellite dish, or been driven out by long hours without morphine. That would explain a lot. How he had survived. Why that other life seemed so far away. Maybe Janus had been someone else entirely, a demon that had slipped through the crack in Alec Trevelyan's soul and possessed him, until it was exorcised by the fall?

But even drunk as he was, he couldn't make himself believe that.

So he took another swallow, even though it had stopped helping.

This was why he was careful never to get _really_ drunk -- because eventually, he always came to the point of utter clarity, where he could no longer run from himself.

Money, revenge for his parents ... they all made lovely excuses for everything he'd done. Better than a rejecected lover's nine-year-long fit of pique. In reality -- looked at in the cold, clear light of vodka -- it had always been about James.

He could never have James. Not really, not completely. Sharing him with women he didn't mind, that was only sex, but sharing him with England?

Another swallow.

He'd done his damnedest to make sure James wouldn't have England anymore, not the England he'd known and loved and protected. Let him see England as a shattered wreck, let him try and pick up the pieces --

Only it hadn't been England that had been shattered that day.

But here James was. He'd spent the past six months picking up the pieces.

And did that mean that things had changed? Did that mean that James loved him?

And if it did, what did that mean for Alec? Was he supposed to say 'all is forgiven' and go on with their lives? Sooner or later, they'd have to rejoin the world. Sooner or later, MI-6 would call James to account for his missing months and (because he was the best) they'd want him back. They always did.

And where, Alec wondered, would that leave him? Out in the cold again?

Bloody hell, he was out of vodka.


	44. Messes

James woke suddenly and realized that he was alone. "Alec?" he called.

The walker was gone. Of course it was; Alec might be getting stronger, but he still needed help. James rolled over to his other side, thinking at first that Alec might have gone to the bathroom, but the door was standing open, the light off.

He rolled out of bed, pulled on his pajama bottoms, and went searching. He couldn't have gone very far ...

And he hadn't. He found Alec in the other room, staring disconsolately at an empty bottle of vodka.

"Alec -- "

"James! I hope you've brought more vodka!" He was grinning like an idiot, but to James's eyes it looked forced.

"Don't tell me you drank it _all_," he said, though he could see clearly that he had.

"Every drop."

"This isn't like you."

"How would you know?"

The question hit him like a kick in the chest. This was _Alec_; partner, best friend, lover ... _liar, traitor._

"Alec, please." He took a deep breath, and then spoke in a rush. "Don't push me away."

For a moment, it was as if all Alec's walls had come down. He looked up at James, a mixture of despair, confusion, old pain, and desperate hope flashing across his face. "James, I want -- oh, no, I'm going to -- "

James managed to step to the side just before Alec bent forward and vomited.

When he was finished -- for the moment, at least -- James draped one arm over his shoulder, got his arm around Alec's waist, and hauled him to his feet. He started to retch again; James got him to the bathroom just in time.

He could do nothing but rub Alec's back as he was sick.

By the time Alec had thrown up not only all the vodka he'd drunk, but everything he'd eaten for the past day, he looked limp and wrung out. When James tried to talk to him, all he would do was moan. So James helped him wash his face and brush his teeth, got him to drink a glass of water, and tucked him into bed.

He was snoring almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. James stood looking down at him for a long moment. He couldn't help feeling that he'd missed an opportunity to find out what was bothering Alec. If he'd come in just five minutes earlier --

For a moment, he almost gave in to the temptation to shake Alec awake, _make_ him talk. But instead, he went to clean up the mess.


	45. Last Call

To James, it was obvious that Alec shouldn't be walking; he took small, careful steps across the pub's rock-lined parking lot. But when James offered his arm, he shook his head. "This is my reward, remember?"

"Of course." And for the past two-and-a-half weeks, Alec had been pushing himself, _hard_, to accomplish it.

For that time -- since the night that James had found him drunk -- Alec had been acting like his old self. Though since that night, James hadn't been able to shake the thought that he didn't know what Alec's _old self_ had been.

But that was ridiculous. He might not have known where Alec's loyalties had been, but he knew what was and was not normal behavior for him.

Had he ever known Alec when he didn't have a secret? James felt a chill skitter across his skin -- and not just from the fall wind that whipped across the parking lot. They reached the stairs, and Alec was forced to accept a bit of help. But only until they reached the top. Then he let go, and soldiered on.

That was Alec. He'd always been good at rising to the occasion.

Though he did look relieved when the hostess said she could seat them immediately. Once she'd taken their orders and left them alone, James contemplated having another go at finding out what was on Alec's mind. But before he could, Alec said "it seems odd to be out. But I suppose I'll have to get used to it."

_Not yet!_ He wasn't ready to share Alec with the world. But he said "There's no rush, Alec. You've still got some time, while you build up your strength."

"The fact remains, we can't stay here forever."

_Why can't we?_ the stubborn part of his brain wanted to know. "It doesn't have to end -- "

"Neither one of us were meant to live in two rooms and a hallway." Alec's gaze was intense. "The idyll is nearly at an end, James -- so what happens now?"

James scrabbled for an answer, but before he could find one, Alec continued; "Sooner or later, you're going to have to make an account of yourself to MI-6."

"They need me," James said. "M might not be happy, but sooner or later, she'll have to let me return to duty."

"And what about me?" Alec asked. "I certainly can't go waltzing back through MI-6's front door."

"I said I would keep you safe," James said.

"By what? Keeping me stashed in some out-of-the-way apartment, and slipping in to see me whenever you can steal a few hours?"

"Don't be so melodramatic, Alec."

"Perhaps I should just go. Lose myself somewhere."

"I can't bear to lose you again." He wished they weren't in public, wished he was somewhere he could take Alec in his arms, hold him until he believed what James was trying to tell him ...

The waitress brought their lunch. Alec tucked in eagerly; James had to force himself to eat around the tightness in his throat.

By the time they were finished eating, Alec looked like he was about to fall asleep. James didn't mind; he'd rather finish the conversation at home. He paid, and then they headed for the door.

Alec made it about halfway out, before staggering. He fell against the front desk. Tried to straighten for a moment, before giving up. "Could you get my cane?"

"Lean on me, Alec."

But he shook his head. "I can make it, if you'll just get me the bloody cane."

James knew better than to argue, when Alec got his back up about something. "I'll be right back."

By the time he got back, a little color had returned to Alec's face. He straightened, as the hostess leaned past him to answer the phone. But the burst of strength didn't last long; he leaned on James to get down the stairs, and didn't pull away when he reached the bottom.

When Alec was settled in the car, James risked leaning in for a quick kiss. "We'll figure something out," he said. "I promise."

Alec looked up at him, and for a moment, James saw the pain in his eyes.

"Hey." James put a hand on Alec's shoulder. "I love you. Don't ever doubt that."

Alec covered James's hand with his own, held it there for a moment before letting it drop. James was about to close the door, when Alec said "I do to, you know."

"Do what?"

"Love you." Alec let out a long breath, as if he'd been holding it. "We'll talk. Tonight." He pointed with his chin, and out of the corner of his eye, James saw a family heading toward the pub. "When we've got less of an audience."

"Of course." James shut the door and walked to his side of the car, feeling optimistic for the first time in weeks. As he pulled out of the parking lot, Alec tilted his head back and closed his eyes -- but his hand settled on James's thigh, and stayed there for the rest of the 45-minute drive home.

Finally, they were home. While Alec waited, James dragged the concealing weave of branches over the top of the car.

He was just turning to help Alec, when he some movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned, and saw a man in camouflage gear watching him.


	46. Traitor

For a long moment, James and the man in camo gear stared at each other across the clearing. But then the man turned and ran.

"Stay here!" James told Alec -- though exhausted as he was, Alec couldn't exactly do anything else. James drew his gun -- old habits died hard, even out in the countryside -- and took off in pursuit.

It seemed to take forever, following the man through the woods, a surreal chase, bobbing and weaving around trunks and branches. _This shouldn't be happening._

He was gaining on the man, when he turned and raised his pistol. Before he could shoot, James was in range. He didn't bother with the chest; too much chance the man was wearing body armor. One shot in the middle of the forehead; the man's head jerked back, and he collapsed forward, twitching.

Cautiously, Bond approached. He turned the corpse over and saw the logo on his fatigues.

SAS.

He'd just killed a British soldier.

But he couldn't let himself dwell on that. He suddenly realized he'd made a mistake, leaving Alec. If they'd wanted to draw him away, they'd chosen _exactly_ the right method.

Pursuit drive. They'd sent him someone to run after.

He turned and raced back to the car, the clearing. _Alec._

They must have known. Must have been watching, waiting, for exactly the moment to catch them off-guard. And he'd walked right into the trap, and taken the bait, and left Alec alone --

He returned to a scene out of a nightmare -- or nine years of nightmares.   
Alec was kneeling on the ground. Bill Tanner -- M's Chief of Staff -- was standing over him, a gun pointed at his forehead. Half-a-dozen more commandoes were surrounding them.

Time slowed to a crawl -- it seemed to take forever for Tanner to turn to him. "007 -- set the gun down and come out with your hands up. It's not -- it's not too late to stop this."

Had it been only a few months ago, Bond wondered, that he and Tanner had been at headquarters, discussing the 'evil queen of numbers'?

"Don't do anything foolish, 007."

Alec turned his head to look at him, as well. For a moment, James imagined that it was Ourumov standing there with his gun to Alec's head. But no, he reminded himself -- the man was dead. And this was a friend, an ally. A representative of the British government.

He wouldn't -- couldn't -- look at Alec, as he slowly he lowered the gun.

 

Tanner let out a long breath, and for one moment, his aim wavered from Alec.

Bond snapped his gun up and fired. With time as slow as it was, he had time to see the look of shock on Tanner's face as the bullet blew a third eye in the middle of his forehead.

But he was already turning, pulling the trigger twice, three times, knowing as he did so that there was no chance he could take all of the SAS soldiers before they could take him. But Alec had snatched up Tanner's gun, and at that range, he couldn't miss.

The last of the soldiers kicked his legs once more, and then lay still.

Alec let the hand with the gun drop to his side, and lurched forward.

"Alec -- are you hit?"

But no, he was only leaning forward to push himself to his feet. But he didn't have the strength. James pulled him up, held him close. But he couldn't keep from staring at Tanner's body.

"James -- I'm sorry."

He felt himself nod. "We -- we have to go. Away from here."

He helped Alec to the car. Slid in behind the wheel, and drove as fast as he could from the dead friend whose staring eyes mutely called him _traitor_.


	47. All's Fair

Staggering with exhaustion, Alec followed James up the steep, narrow stairs. He climbed like an old man, stepping up with his left foot and then bringing his right up to the same rung. But he gritted his teeth and pulled his way up.

Finally, he was almost to the top. James put an arm around him to help him up the last few steps.

The hideaway that James had found for them was a boat rental office on the outskirts of Dover. It was only open on weekends; they'd be long gone by the time Friday rolled around. Once night fell, they'd take one of the tiny, low-profile inflatable boats and cross the Channel to Calais. Alec wasn't looking forward to the cold and the damp, but they had to get out of England.

Alec let James lower him to the battered green sofa, and stretched his leg out. James crossed to the window, and parted the blinds enough to study the street below. "No sign of pursuit," he said.

Which didn't mean there was none. Every road, every street, every bloody _footpath_, was probably being watched, but Alec found that paradoxically reassuring. This was the kind of challenge they had excelled at. "Just like old times, eh?"

James looked up, his expression bleak. "Tanner had a wife," he said. "A couple of kids."

"He also had a gun to my head."

"True," James said, but he didn't look convinced.

Alec gritted his teeth, and pushed himself to his feet. "James -- "

"Treason, Alec. That's what I've done. I've become a traitor." He turned away, walked to the other side of the room. "So what do I do now, Alec? Hire myself out as a mercenary? Join up with the Janus syndicate?"

"I doubt there's much of a Janus syndicate left to join. It will have been dismantled by governments or picked apart by rivals by now."

"So sorry to hear that." Alec supposed he meant to sound angry, but there was no force behind the words.

"I'm not." Alec limped over to James. "I made sure that even if everything went pear-shaped, I'd have the ability to rebuild ... one way or another." He slipped his arms around James from behind. "I have ten thousand francs in a numbered Swiss account, and close to a million U.S. dollars in a bank in the Caymans."

"That's some rebuilding fund."

"Enough for a lifetime, if we're careful." He nuzzled James's neck. "No hiring out as a mercenary, no using your expertise against your former masters. Just the two of us on a quiet beach somewhere."

Finally, he felt James relax into his arms. "Of course," he said, "we do have to get to it." But he sounded eager for the challenge.

"Child's play." Alec let his hand drift lower. "I can think of somewhere much tighter that I'd like to get into."

"Hmm ... you do realize the challenges we face."

"A marginally comfortable sofa and an absence of lubricant? Certainly not an obstacle for two -- " _former 00-agents_, he'd almost said, but that would be a mistake. "Two experts in improvisation."

James turned around, kissed him hard. While Alec was distracted, he unzipped his pants and pushed them down. Alec moaned, as James's fingers wrapped around his cock. Two, three strokes -- and then he was gone. "We should rest."

Alec grabbed James by the waistband of his slacks. Undid his fly, and reached in. Found him half-hard already. Pulled him close. "When we get to Calais, we'll find a hotel. Small, shabby ... but with a comfortable bed." He pushed James's briefs down, so that he could press both their cocks together, wrap his fingers around both of them. "After this long, I know you're going to be tight. So I'm going to slowly, slowly open you up, one finger at a time, pressing in, filling you -- "

James let out a gasp; his hands tightened on Alec's waist. Pulled him close and plunged his tongue into Alec's mouth. It took all Alec's concentration to keep stroking, touching. He slid his free hand over the heads of their cocks, feeling the sticky liquid that had already leaked out.

Too soon, though, James had to come up for air.

"Where was I?" Alec whispered. "Ah, yes. I was about to fuck you senseless."

"Yes." James sounded very far away.

"Once I've got you opened up -- three fingers twisting inside you -- you're ready. I pull my fingers out and line myself up and thrust into you with one stroke.

James moaned, his head tilting back.

Almost there.

"So hot and tight. Like -- like -- " His mind fails him. He picks up the pace, stroking faster. "I can feel my cock hitting inside you, right there. And I know that you're ready. I know you want it. Come for me, James. Come _with_ me. James!"

* * *

Later, Alec lay, curled on top of James, watching him sleep.

He supposed their odds weren't all that great. They'd have to navigate across the English Channel in a small inflatable boat, then make their way across Europe and then to the Caymans. They were wanted fugitives, low on money, hunted by every law enforcement agency in the world ... but as long as they were together, who could stop them?

Kneeling there in the woods, looking down the barrel of Tanner's gun, he'd been comforted by the fact that, if James chose MI-6, at least he wouldn't have to live with the knowledge for very long.

But James had chosen _him_.

Everything had worked out just as he'd hoped it would, when he'd made the call to M.


End file.
